


Letters From the Dead

by water_4_willows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Loss, Broken Bones, Case Fic, Fever, Gen, Gen Work, Hospitalization, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character Death(s), Possession, Season/Series 09, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 96,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/water_4_willows/pseuds/water_4_willows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's words cut him deep and in the confusion and anger of their aftermath, Dean flees. He thinks some time apart might do them some good. How very wrong he turns out to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

**Author's Note:**

> I have no affiliation with Supernatural or the CW and only the OC's in this story belong to me. This story is un-beta'd and all mistakes are mine. As always, I don't own them, but boy do I like to make them suffer. Enjoy!

David Briggs was a heavy sleeper. As the owner of a construction company and foremen of a crew of almost 20, he had to be. Long hours and hard labor meant heavy nights of impenetrable sleep that usually started when his head hit the pillow and ended when his wife's alarm went off in the wee hours of the morning for work. So it came as quite a shock when it was not the agitating beep of the alarm that woke him from sleep, but his body collapsing heavily against cold stone in a room with no light.

At first David thought he was dreaming. The blackness he had awoken to was so complete that it could only have been his mind playing tricks on him or some vestiges of a nightmare refusing to let him go. He found himself reaching out into the darkness searching for the familiar form of his wife but his hands found only empty air and unyielding stone.

It was the cold his brain registered next. It was a creeping, grasping iciness that was quickly numbing his backside and David sat up to alleviate the assault on his bare skin. Nightmares had been tormenting his dreams for a week straight now and surely the unrelenting, ominous blackness he found himself in was just the lingering effects of the nightmare he never could quite recall. Right?

David scrubbed shaky fists across his eyes in a futile attempt to dislodge himself from the dream, but the thick blackness was still there when he opened his eyes again. This wasn't happening. He needed to wake up right now and be back in his own bed with his wife asleep beside him, not sightless and alone in a place he didn't recognize with no way of finding out how he'd gotten there. But it wasn't a dream, was it?

" _Real,_ " his thoughts whispered and David shuddered against them.

Panic began clawing up the back of his throat and in the absolute darkness, David fought for control. He needed to be rational. He was awake and this was real and he had to get himself through it, so he choked down a rising swell of hopelessness and forced his brain to think logically. The darkness was absolute, there was no denying that now, but he had other things to worry about like where he was and how he'd gotten there. Was there a way out, and most importantly, was he alone?

David focused his hearing, but there wasn't much to pick up on over the staccato beat of his heart in his ears. He decided on a different approach.

"Hello?" The word came out hoarse and seemed to lodge itself in the inky blackness surrounding him. David cleared his throat and called out again, but the only response he got was his own voice echoed back. His heart seized in panic for the briefest of moments, but he quickly fought it back down again.

"Relax, Briggs," he soothed into the emptiness, "You're okay." And he was. A quick test of his limbs yielded no outward signs of trauma except for a pair of shredded socks and some shallow open cuts on his feet. His calf muscles ached a bit and his shoulder was sore from when he'd fallen to the floor, but other than that, he appeared to be perfectly fine. Wherever he was he'd gotten there in just his socks and boxers and, had the blackness not been so complete, he'd almost have been embarrassed by his state of undress. He thanked his lucky stars that it didn't appear anyone was around to witness his semi-nudeness then, looking back on the thought, swallowed it down and tried not to think about the fact that he might be going mad. Certain of no life threatening injuries, David weighed his options.

He couldn't see. That fact was perfectly clear and beyond refute at this point. What wasn't exactly clear was the 'why'. Had he gone blind? There was definite space around him so he probably hadn't been buried alive and the floor beneath him was stone so that ruled out a shipping container. There wasn't much else to explain the complete absence of light except his blindness theory and David really wasn't ready to give credence to that one yet. Even if it was true and somehow he had gone blind, it still didn't explain how he'd gotten to… wherever 'here' was.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to remain calm as scenarios began prancing across his imagination, each one becoming more far-fetched: some sort of solitary confinement, kidnapped, alien abduction... Realizing the panic was starting to return, David knew he needed to do something, anything to get his mind off of his predicament. Putting a tentative hand out, David searched the ground around him and found only roughhewn stone floor in every direction. Using his hands and ignoring the sting to the cuts on his feet, he got himself standing after fighting back a wave of vertigo. It was the strangest feeling, being completely unable to see, and he'd never really realized how much he relied on his sight to do the smallest of tasks until it was gone. Holding his arms out in front of him instinctively, David took a few tentative steps forward but found nothing but more darkness. The blackness was beginning to close in around him and he stumbled forward with blind urgency, hands grouping desperately for any sign of structure in the blankness.

The impenetrable darkness was starting to do something to him. Panic was rising in his throat again as his other senses started kicking into high gear until every audible footfall was another person behind him in the dark. Each movement of air was a hand reaching for him in the blackness until finally, blessedly, his hands met stone wall and the relief almost brought tears to his eyes. Near hysterics, he rested his back against the solid wall, letting it anchor him to sanity for a least a little while longer. The wall was tangible, unmovable behind his back and hinted of order in the chaos of the darkness surrounding him.

"Get a grip, Briggs!" he choked, digging nails into the wall behind him, sending bits of rock sprinkling to the floor. "There's nothing there!"

Keeping his back pressed tightly against the wall, David made his way slowly along the stone, ignoring the sharp edges that reached out to scrape against his skin and draw blood. It was slow going but the prospect of pushing off the wall and losing the reality it provided left his body shaking so he traversed the wall in awkward shuffling sideways steps. Every few feet he would stop and listen over his pounding heart for any other noises, but the darkness gave nothing away. Even sound it kept enveloped in blackness until all David was left with was what he himself created. His whole world had been condensed down to this one wall and the sound of pebbles scattering as he shuffled on, grunts as the loose stone dug into open cuts, and the ever present pounding drum of his heartbeat in his ears. He existed in that world for what felt like an age, doomed to scramble along in the dark for eternity until his hand came into sharp contact with something hard and unyielding.

Nerves beyond frayed, David let out a hysterical high pitched scream that would have ruined his reputation as a man had anyone been around to hear it, and bolted a few feet back the way he had come. David fell to a crouch along the wall and tensed for the impending attack. He balled his fists and made crude battle plans in his head, imagination conjuring up all manner of foe. Every monster from every horror movie he'd ever seen sprang to life in his mind's eye and he felt suddenly sorry for the hard time he'd given his niece the other night about monsters under the bed. He even prayed, something he hadn't done in years.

Any moment the attack would come. Any moment he would be ripped to shreds and this nightmare would end. He could only guess at how long he crouched in the darkness under the paralyzing fear of the unknown before realization began to dawn on him. After what felt like an eternity, he risked letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and pulled in lungfulls of air into his protesting lungs. When the movement didn't bring about his untimely death, he risked rising from his crouch, the cracking of his knees so loud in the silence it startled him. David bent at the waist and put his hands on his knees, his internal dialog desperately willing his body to calm down and act rationally. He was a 40 year old seasoned construction worker for goodness sake! He owned his own business, was 6'2, a buck ninety and had beaten the shit out of more than one person in his lifetime. He was built of stronger stuff than even he could guess and if David could be sure of anything at the moment it was that he wasn't going to go out like this: scared shitless and crying like a baby.

Finally gaining some control over his emotions, David knew he needed to head back to whatever it was he had found. The unknown object could hold a clue to where he was but the thought of returning had hysterical laughter bubbling up from his gut and it was all he could do to force it back down to where it had come from. Losing it now wasn't going to do anyone any favors and he needed to get out of this alive.

When he finally talked himself into some semblance of control, David made his way slowly back the way he had come. There was a brief moment of panic when his mind suggested he was going the wrong way and that he had gotten disoriented and was not headed in the direction he thought. He was half tempted to turn around and try the other way when his hands found the object again in the blackness. Letting out a relieved sigh, he let his shaky hands explore what he had found. Whatever it was it was solid under his touch and not moving to murder him like his tortured mind kept trying to convince him of.

There was no way to see the object in the inky blackness so David let his hands do the work of his eyes. The object was some sort of table and upon further exploration David discovered it was a table saw, and a familiar one at that. It wasn't panic or fear that had his breath quickening this time, but something akin to hope and a desperate anticipation. Barely daring to hope, David swept his hand under the table, searching for the curled edges of the label he affixed to all his equipment with the company logo and his contact information. When his fingers caught against the stickiness of the frayed edges, David felt hot tears of relief spring to his eyes. It was his. There was no denying it and the relief that realization brought was enough to collapse him to his knees on the floor, tears flowing, reputation be damned. The simple piece of equipment was his salvation and suddenly everything fit into place. A complete lack of light didn't matter anymore and the layout of the room he knew he was in sprang to life in his mind. He knew exactly where he was and exactly what he needed to do to get out and get back home. That thought had him getting shakily to his feet again, using the table for leverage when vertigo crept in again. If he had been able to see the room, he guessed it would have been spinning but the need for fresh air and freedom had David groping again for the wall on the other side of the table.

David pulled the layout of the room back to the forefront of his memories and tried to remember where his crew had stashed their supplies earlier that day. He didn't think there would be anything else in his way to the staircase that would take him up and out of his prison, but he slowed his steps and willed himself to be careful all the same. His recall of the room really should have been perfect as he and his crew had been at the site every day for the past week. Then, to top it all off, every day for that past week, he'd dreamt of the ancient tavern in Oriskany, New York and the eerie musty basement that apparently had liked him so much, it had invited him back.

David had caught wind of a job in Oriskany a few months back and after exploiting a friend of a friend (or two), he had won the bid to help restore some lower levels of an old building in town. The work was a godsend and guys were pretty stoked to get his call about the new job.

From the outside The Old Road Bed and Breakfast had looked like your normal average historical location complete with proudly displayed American Flags, charming colonial architecture, and even its own well maintained historical marker. The four story brick and stone structure had apparently been standing since before the American Revolution and had morphed from village tavern to post office to derelict to its now current incarnation of Bed and Breakfast. When David had first laid eyes on the impressive building, he wasn't really sure why the current owner was looking to do any work on the place. It was a beautifully restored local business that still pulled in a decent number of affluent New Yorkers from around the state yet the owner, an old widow David had never met nor heard of, was determined to return the building to its former glory: The Old Road Tavern. David and his men were going to be renovating the first floor and the lower level to revert them back into a functioning tavern and the architect in David had jumped at the prospect. He'd wiled away many an hour fussing with ideas of what he could do with the place, or at least he had until he met Olivia DeLancy of the Oriskany Historical Society. Apparently, New Yorkers were nut-balls crazy over their historical locations and David had been unceremoniously dragged into a meeting of the Society before his building permit application had even left the mailbox. Twenty impassioned speeches about preservation in and he had been convinced that he would never be the ring leader of that three ring circus.

So he had begrudgingly accepted copies of copies of original blueprints covered in archaic terms and shoddy measurements and after six months of heated debates and bloody battles with every committee and branch of government in Oriskany, NY David had finished plans in his hand the go-ahead to being work. Only, of course, with the understanding that a Historical Society representative would be overseeing every step of the construction. David had prayed furtively, but those prayers had apparently gone unanswered because bright and early Monday morning Olivia DeLancy had shown up at the job site in a pressed suit and the most ridiculous high heels David Briggs had ever seen. She'd been easy enough to scare away, however, and had hightailed it out of the building as soon as David had mentioned 'basement' and 'sandblasting' when she had asked him what was on the agenda for the first day of construction. Figuring out where to start would be the least of the crew's worries that first day and eventually they really had settled on cleaning the lower levels of the old building.

The tavern basement had been as 1700s as you could get. DeLancy had prattled on about how it had been used for important meetings during the Revolution but all David could see was carbon deposits, inches thick, covering every imaginable surface and three centuries worth of detritus to filter through. The first day alone had been spent packing up the contents and labeling the boxes with Mrs. DeLancy's name in bold letters on the side of each box. The creatures that had scurried from boxes that disintegrated when his crew tried to touch them still made his skin crawl.

The basement had been constructed completely from stone and still needed to be thoroughly cleaned and fitted for electricity. If he had been able to see, he would have easily been able to point out every intricate but rusted iron wall sconce made to hold candles that still hung by crude iron nails in some places with the ceiling permanently stained black from the years of constant firelight. He could have judged his distance to escape by the huge fireplace crumbing grumpily at the far end of the room or have been aware of the ceilings that hung low and oppressive turning the whole atmosphere ominous. The lack of air and light had set most of his crew on edge and even his usually jovial nephew Sam who worked on the crew had been unusually quiet when working in the basement. Yet for all its short comings, when David had first set foot in the space, he was struck by the simple yet elegant construction of the whole building and its apparent history. Master craftsmen had set every stone around him back in a time when such men were revered and held in high esteem. Any hack job could get a license any more, it seemed, but David had been different. He'd fought hard for his knowledge and had a degree in architecture and engineering under his belt. He respected good workmanship and while dank and musty by the modern standards, David still had managed to be awed by it all.

Created by master craftsmen or not, David was still stuck in the windowless room with no idea how he had gotten there and remembering his situation, he cleared the table saw and continued his journey down the wall. An electrician was coming next week to fit the basement for electricity and David knew the generator they had been using for power had been stored down there somewhere. The trouble was he wasn't quite sure where and did not want to risk bumbling around in the dark and killing himself when he was so close to getting out already. If he was remembering correctly, freedom was only a few feet away and soon his hands would find the place where the wall turned away to make room for the stairs that offered him the only escape from his nightmare. The next few feet gave him nothing but more wall until finally his hand reached out into open air. He stumbled forward a bit in his haste to find the first stair and looking up, David could make out the faint outline of early dawn light peaking around the edges of the door about 20 feet up. He had never been so happy to see anything more in his life than those weak shafts of light and, almost laughing with relief, he began climbing the stairs two at a time. He made it about half way up when it happened. Putting his foot out to the next step the wind was knocked from his chest when a cold envelope of air suddenly surrounded him. Early morning light was growing stronger in the stair well and he was able to see his breath crystallizing in the cold air in front of him just before he was wrenched up and away from the stairs.

"What the f..." his curse was cut off mid-sentence as the ground disappeared from beneath his feet and David was pulled bodily back into the blackness. This time there was no talking himself out of the sheer terror that took over him because the icy moist arms that were wrapped around his bare torso were very, very real. The morning light had been weak, but it had still given him enough illumination to catch a glimpse of the grey and decaying arms that had lifted him from the ground.

The pressure was unbearable and every desperate attempt to pull air into his lungs was thwarted by an even tighter constriction on his chest. Instinct tried to form a scream in his throat, but the twin vices wrapped around him were unyielding and no air moved past his parted lips. Unchecked panic swirled around his brain, trying to conjure coherent thought around his flight or fight response, yet in the end he submitted to those most primal of instincts and fought ferociously against his attacker. How long it went on, he wasn't sure, but suddenly he was slammed onto the stone floor on the flat of his back and the paralyzing constriction was gone. David drew in a large and ragged breath that sent him into a coughing fit and brought the taste of blood to his tongue. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to get up and run like hell, but all he could focus on for the moment was pulling oxygen into his abused lungs. Every inhalation was agony and he knew that at least some of his ribs had been fractured. Disoriented and oxygen deprived, David did the only thing he could think to do and pulled himself along the floor by his arms in search of his wall. The only thing left to believe in in his unending nightmare. He made it maybe 10 feet before he felt the cold squeeze return as he was dragged helplessly back to where it had all begun.

Knowing it was likely his last chance at survival, David put all the remaining strength he had into fighting for his life. Behind his fists he put all the rage of an unremarkable life, the left over strength of dreams long ago forgotten but still attainable, and the look on his wife's face every morning when he awoke beside her in the warmth of their shared bed. All these things he used but in the end there was nothing to fight against. His fists met no resistance for he had no defense against an entity that seemed to be made of nothing more than bone chilling cold and unbound rage. All his futile movements earned him was an increase in pressure to his chest that was quickly becoming unbearable and likely to be his demise. No breath could reach his starving lungs though he gasped like a fish on dry land, flopping around and begging for his life through silent pleas from his eyes sent out into the black abyss for no one to see. David heard a cracking noise above the roaring in his ears as he fought and realized with sick certainty that it was his bones cracking from the unimaginable pressure being exerted on his body. A cry died in his throat as his chest collapsed and the last thing David Briggs ever heard was splat of his insides on the stone floor and a mournful wail from the blackness.


	2. Another One Bites the Dust

Dean Winchester was pulled from his dreams by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. Shooting up from his slouched position he instantly scanned the room for any sign of threat but found only an empty glass in pieces on the floor beneath his boots. Unsure of where he was at first, it took a few moments to realize he was still in the kitchen and then only a few more moments after that for the memories of what had happened last night to push him heavily back down onto the bench.

_"No, Dean, I wouldn't. Same situation... I wouldn't,"_

The words were like heavy rocks in the pit of his stomach and Dean rested his head on a forearm, riding out a wave of nausea. The whiskey bottle sat on the table near his head, as empty and hollow as he felt. Somehow in his sleep he'd managed to knock his glass off the table and onto the floor and light blinked back up at him from the shards. Like the glass, his world had been shattered with no real way of putting it back together again. Duct tape and superglue were no match for the fissures he could now feel running through his soul after what his brother had said to him last night. He was Humpty friggin' Dumpty again, and this time there were no horses or king's men left to try and put him back together again. They were all gone or dead now.

_You know, Sam, I saved your hide back there. And I saved your hide at that church... And the hospital. I may not think things all the way through. Okay? But what I do, I do because it's the right thing. I'd do it again."_

_"And that... is the problem. You think you're my savior, my brother, the hero. You swoop in, and even when you mess up, you think what you're doing is worth it because you've convinced yourself you're doing more good than bad... But you're not. I mean, Kevin's dead, Crowley's in the wind. We're no closer to beating this angel thing. Please tell me, what is the upside of me being alive?"_

_"You kidding me? You and me - fighting the good fight together."_

_"Okay. Just once, be honest with me. You didn't save me for me. You did it for you."_

_"What are you talkin' about?"_

_"I was ready to die. I was ready. I should have died, but you... You didn't want to be alone, and that's what all this boils down to. You can't stand the thought of being alone. I'll give you this much. You are certainly willing to do the sacrificing as long as you're not the one being hurt."_

_"All right, you want to be honest? If the situation were reversed and I was dying, you'd do the same thing."_

_"No, Dean. I wouldn't. Same circumstances...I wouldn't. "_

Some of what Sam had said last night was true. As far as he was concerned, it was human nature not to want to be alone or left behind and Dean was man enough to admit that keeping his family going was at least part of the reason why he often did what he did. That was no problem to admit. But to have his brother, the kid he'd spent his entire life protecting and keeping alive, tell him in no uncertain terms that he could care less about Dean and could (and would) let him die if the tables were turned, was like a sucker punch to the gut. No, take that back, it was like a knife in the back.

Slow going in and murderous in its intent.

In the span of one evening, everything Dean had ever held true had been yanked out from under him and he wondered where he was supposed to go from here. It was a crossroads and Winchester's never had much luck at crossroads. He could go left and go in search of his brother, find out if the kid had really meant what he said. Or, he could go right and run for his life. Then there was the need for a drink beckoning from behind, but his rolling stomach kept him from heading in that direction. The memories of Sam's words bitter on his tongue, Dean dove head first towards the kitchen sink and puked his meager stomach contents out into its depths. If only the heaving would take along the dark, ever growing knot in the pit of his guts. Like he'd ever be so lucky.

Even after his stomach had given all it had the heaves continued dry and Dean fought to keep himself under control. He was pretty proud of himself for not drinking himself to death last night when Sam had left him to trudge about in the wreckage of the bombshell he had dropped, though he was quickly becoming sorry he hadn't been finished off. Each exhalation of breath held a whisper of breakdown and Dean put his arms around his midsection to keep himself from coming apart at the seams. Despair is a funny thing and Dean's heaving half sobs continued on even though his eyes stayed dry. There were too many uncertainties out there at the moment and to get himself under control again meant he would have to face them. Better to stay bent over the kitchen sink in the grey haze of his hangover, hyperventilating. But in the end even that escape left him and he was abandoned beside the basin, knees wobbling and threatening collapse.

The tap made quick work of his mess and he closed his eyes and tried to imagine the outward signs of his pain swirling away to disappear down the pipes along with the evidence of his weakness. He pulled out every tool in his arsenal and palming water to his face, Dean pushed Sam's words down as far as they were willing to go. When he looked up again, his eyes found the clock trapped behind its steel cage and mounted to the concrete block wall. It read 6:30. AM or PM he couldn't be sure, not after the night he'd just had.

Splashing his face again for good measure, Dean cleaned up the broken glass from the floor with a broom, trying to find some normalcy in the plain household task, then headed out to the bunker's library. If Sam was determined to upend the world he'd just put back together after Kevin, then he was going to have to be ready to work because if there was one thing Dean Winchester did to deal with shit, it was to find a hunt and throw himself at it.

Sam's laptop sat open on the table in the library in a shaft of soft morning sun that was filtering in from one of the bunker's high windows. The sun was comforting and the old wood of the table was warm beneath the open palms Dean pressed against it. The whole atmosphere held an element of calm and Dean wondered if the moment was maybe the universe extending him some sort of olive branch. It was like some momentary truce and Dean didn't quite know what to do with it. The Bunker had suddenly transformed itself into home and everything radiated the same word (from the leather of the books to the hum of the light bulbs above his head):

Safe.

Whatever had changed, he was sure it wouldn't last and he bet by the time the sun's path had traversed the window frame the universe would reopen its jaws and continue its never ending quest to swallow him whole. Safe might be in the sun in the library in the early morning, but it certainly had never visited the kitchen and had definitely not been there last night.

The moment ruined, Dean brought up his favorite search engine and put in a few keywords that were usually pretty good at getting him some bites. He briefly thought of returning to the kitchen to make some coffee, but doing that would risk waking Sam and Dean really didn't think he could face his brother at the moment. He was strangely focused in his little block of sunlight. Based on the amount of alcohol he'd consumed last night, that was saying something, and he trudged along merrily through the hits his search had brought up, happy that the dread conjured from last night's conversation with Sam was staying where he had put it. Down and out of sight.

Dean lost himself for a while in a few favorite internet haunts and on the websites for several major (and some not so major) newspapers and was startled when the front door of the bunker banged open. Flicking his eyes to the left he watched as Sam stretch at the top of the stairs having just returned from a run. Dean had been stupid to think that he'd get any time away from his brother, especially a brother who had the innate ability of always being around when something needed to be aired out between them. Well, Sam had done enough talking for the both of them last night and Dean would be damned if he was going to be the one to bring it all up again.

Sam hadn't noticed him yet and was humming tunelessly has he came down the stairs, ear buds still in place from his run. Dean felt the sides of his mouth curl up when Sam finally spotted him at the table and did the best 'dear in a headlights' impression Dean had seen him do in a while. His brother pulled the buds from his ears and Dean quickly checked the smirk. He may have pushed the pain and anger down somewhere it was staying put for now, but that didn't mean he was going to act as though nothing had happened between them. Dean focused his attention back to the laptop with a scowl and ignored his brother.

Sam stood in the connecting space between the map room and the library for a few awkward moments, shifting from foot to foot apparently trying to decide on his next move. Dean clicked away in his best impression of nonchalantness and waited for his brother to decide how they were going to play this.

"What are you doing?" The question was posed beautifully and Dean almost wanted to stand and applaud his brother. It was equal parts aloof, conspiratorial, genuinely interested and questioning. The games had apparently begun and it was Dean's turn play. He wrestled with several moves in his head, contemplating how Sam would respond to each one in kind and what counter moves he could expect. In the end he decided the truth was best.

"I'm playing around on the internet." Dean didn't look up when he said it but kept his eyes trained on the laptop screen instead. Sam was quiet for several more beats.

"Find anything interesting?"

"Not really." if Sam's eyes had been lasers, Dean would have surely have been dead by then. He could feel the heat of Sam's gaze on him but didn't dare look up, afraid of what he might see on his brother's face. Dean wouldn't be able to handle it if Sam wanted to unload more crap on him or if he was looking at him the same way he had last night before he'd left him alone in the kitchen with nothing but the whiskey to keep him together.

"Fine. I'm going to go shower." If there were any emotions flitting across Sam's face, his words didn't betray them and Dean forced his eyes to stay focused on the screen and not search out his brother like they wanted to. Dean scarcely dared to even breath until he felt and heard the familiar rush of water beneath his feet that signified someone had turned the showers on. It was a familiar sound and Dean realized why as sorrow sliced across his heart, drawing blood.

Kevin.

The name bounced around in Dean's skull like a ping pong ball fired from a cannon and he couldn't' stop his eyes darting to the place on the floor where his friend had fallen. Kevin had been a creature of habit you could set your watch by in the end and every morning he'd been up at the same time to shower and get ready for the day. The bunker had been as good to Kevin as it had been to Dean and Sam and offered the homeless, motherless wretch some semblance of normal and he'd taken to it like a horse to hay. It was only now, after he was gone, that Dean had realized just how hard he'd actually rode Kevin, how much they'd depended on him, and how the kid had always remained constant. Constancy was something not often found in the life of a Winchester and it was in small moments like these when he missed his friend the most. The sound of the shower going on every morning at 7 am sharp. Research done and in hand before it was even asked for. The quirky smile when Dean got exasperated at Kevin for his oddities.

The memories of Kevin saturated his thoughts and he paused in his typing to think on his friend a moment longer. His eyes strayed again to the spot on the floor just as the sun disappeared behind a cloud and just as soon as the happy memories surfaced, they were yanked away along with the sun. Laying in the corner, as vivid as if he were still stuck in the moment, doomed to forever relive it in, was Kevin's body, eyes still smoking. Dean shuddered in the loss of the sun's warmth and the vision before him disappeared as the sun reemerged from behind its cloud. He thought to shake his head, maybe try to dislodge the vision from his memory, but in the end he didn't. It was his fault Kevin was dead and if he had to relive the moment he had been killed over and over again for all eternity, so be it. It was his cross to bear.

God, he needed a hunt.

Focusing back on the laptop a link on the search engine caught his eye and he pulled up an article in the New York Post.

_Oneida County authorities are investigating what they believe to be a string of homicides today after a construction worker discovered another body Thursday at the Old Road Bed and Breakfast in the historical village of Oriskany, New York. Earlier in the week the body of David Briggs, a local construction worker doing Restoration work at the Bed & Breakfast, was found mutilated in the building's basement._

_The second body has been identified as Samuel Briggs, David Briggs' 18 year old nephew who worked with his Uncle on the construction crew. Local Police Chief Ronald Zerbak told reporters yesterday that the young man's body had also been mutilated but was reluctant to release further details. An anonymous source within the police department told this reporter that both men had allegedly disappeared from their homes under mysterious circumstances had been found crushed to death in the middle of an empty room. How the bodies got to the construction site and why is still a mystery though authorities are urging residents to stay indoors and have enacted a city wide curfew._

This was promising. It was a little vague but had all the right hints in all the right places and that was really all Dean Winchester needed. A quick search for the town showed it to be about a 24 hour drive away in the middle of New York and that news had the anticipation dying in his throat. While the prospect of a long road trip across the Midwest and to the east coast was oh so appealing, there was no way he and Sam would be able to handle days in the car alone with each other. No way in the world and especially not with how things currently stood between them.

Dean put a hand in his pocket and played with the car keys still in his jeans from yesterday. The road was calling to him, the need for wind in his hair and the pavement beneath his baby's tires sang in his blood and held a promise of freedom from everything determined to pile up on top of him until he suffocated. Maybe that's what he needed, an excuse to just get away from it all.

Away from Sam.

Dean sat up and thought through the plan forming in his brain. Sam was going to be furious but the brother's needed time apart and that was perfectly clear. Their brief separation while Dean had tried to hunt down Gadreel apparently hadn't been enough, so maybe he needed to go this one on his own. After last night there was no guarantee that they would even be able to continue on as they normally had anyway, so maybe this idea wasn't so crazy after all. Dean felt the exhilaration of doing something he knew Sam wouldn't approve of run red hot through his veins. If he really was going to do this, he would have to make it fast least he be caught and his plans dashed to pieces by his soulful eyed younger brother.

Decision made, Dean scrawled a quick note for Sam and left it on top of the laptop where he knew his brother would eventually see it. Sam would be able to track him down if he really wanted to and Dean left a breadcrumb or two in the note just in case. He wasn't about to give up on his brother completely and if Sam followed him to Oriskany, NY (wherever the hell that was) Dean wasn't going to turn him away. Besides, if he really did follow Dean then that would mean he still cared and maybe there was still some hope that they could salvage their relationship. Dean needed a 'coworker' as much as he needed an enema.

Dean made a hasty trip down the hall to his bedroom to grab the photo of his mom and the clothes he would need for the trip. His duffel was still full of clean clothes from yesterday and he shoved in his own rarely used laptop on top of the clothes. And as Sam stood under the spray of the showers below contemplating what to say next to his brother, Dean fled the bunker for the comfort of the Impala and the wide open road.


	3. Take Me Home Country Roads

Fourteen hundred miles. That was how long it would take to get from Kansas to New York and 12 hours into his 22 hour drive, Dean Winchester was climbing the walls. It took a certain kind of person to travel hundreds of miles in a day with only themselves and wild winding road for company and for all intents and purposes, Dean had always counted himself among those elusive few. Yet here, sitting alone in the Impala without his brother, the six hundred miles ahead of him stretched out into eternity with no end in sight. The road had always been a place of refuge for Dean and nothing made him happier than rolling the windows down, blaring his favorite bands through the impala's speakers and listening to Sam nag at him from the passenger seat about the volume. But it was winter in the Midwest and one of the coldest the lower 48 had seen for years so there was no opening the windows to let the wind mess his hair and the Impala's speakers were emitting a strange high pitched wine that no amount of finagling could get rid of. What had started out as a great idea was quickly going downhill.

Somehow the motels always seemed just a little bit shabbier, the road food just a little bit grittier without his pigheaded little brother Yelp-ing them safely through the miles. He and Sam had separated plenty of times in the past, but he'd never gone quite so far cross country with just himself for company. Usually he'd manage to find a fellow hunter or an old buddy of John's to go it with, but most of the people he had known over the years were either dead or retired now and with Bobby and the roadhouse gone, the hunting community just didn't have the structure it once did.

 _Chop off the head and the body will flounder_.

Those words were just as true for Leviathan as they were for humans and Dean found his memories wandering to bygone days as the local radio station he'd picked up played one sad country song after another. Sam would have been twirling the dial ages ago in his endless search for as much emo rock as his poor, starved soul could absorb. The vivid picture of it in his mind had Dean chuckling.

There were moments in the monotony of his drive when Dean could almost forget that a wide yawing schism had opened up in the ground between himself and his brother. Those moments usually came suddenly and unexpectedly when some forgotten memory would pop into his head, pulled from the subconscious by some familiar roadside dive and for just a fleeting moment he would remind himself to tell Sam what he had seen, forgetting that everything was different between them now. It was in aftermath of those moments that the gravity of what Sam had said redoubled its efforts at pulling him apart from the inside out.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to shake off the mutinous thoughts. He didn't break that easy, damn it, and what he needed was to stop and refuel both himself and his baby and he pulled into a promising looking truck stop off the blacktop. The station was busy and its parking lot was full of semis with dark windows, their occupants either asleep inside or partaking of the restaurant attached to the gas station. Places like these were a crap shoot. You were either going to stumble onto the best food you'd ever eaten, or spend the rest of your trip with the runs or puking your guts out. Dean could do without either especially with the last vestiges of his hangover still mucking about through his insides.

As the Impala drank the gas greedily, Dean shivered under his thin jacket. Temps had been hitting negative numbers most days lately and if he were smart, he would have grabbed the oversized winter jacket he'd stashed in the backseat. Always the gluten for punishment, he decided instead on staring at it angrily through the back glass until the gas pump disengaged with an irritated click.

Dean took the happy looks on the faces of the people leaving the diner as a good sign and after topping the Impala's tank off and parking her, Dean made his way through the snow piled lot to the diner. Inside was warm and smelled friggin' fantastic. So much so, Dean couldn't resist inhaling the sweet aromas deeply nor ignore his mouth as it watered happily at the sight of rows and rows of pies beneath the glass of the front counter. Yeah, definitely his kind of place.

A posted sign loudly declared that he should take his own seat and he situated himself in a booth that afforded him the best view of everything. Close to the exits, able to make a quick getaway if need be. These were the tools of a tried and true hunter. From his vantage point he could see the comings and goings at the gas station and keep an eye on the patrons of the restaurant. Not that he expected any of them to vamp out and attack him, go all black eyed and try to murder him or anything. No, the souls that filled the diner were all invested in their own little worlds and Dean basked in his anonymity. No one looked his way but the cute, chubby cherub of a waitress who took his order with a sparkle in her eye and a blush to her cheeks. In Dean Winchester's book the cure for any ailment was a greasy cheeseburger, a cold beer and a piece of pie and 15 minutes later he had just that placed on the Formica in front of him.

The burger ended up being not that bad and Dean inhaled the food, thankful that it added some weight and substance to him without angering his still unsettled stomach. He loved chips and gas station snacks as much as the next guy but there was something to be said of a good solid meal that sat warm and comforting at your center. The pie was just icing on the cake.

Remembering the sign he'd seen at the front entrance, Dean pulled the laptop from the seat beside him and powered the computer on after the waitress had cleared away his empty plates. Sliding to the corner of the booth so that he could still keep lookout over the top of his screen, he jotted notes onto a spiral pad procured from inside his jacket pocket. He had local law enforcement names to memorize. Maps to peruse, directions and motels to plot out and the work was tedious but necessary. Usually he foisted this part of the hunt on Sam but he still could find some contentment with the inane tasks necessary to pull off a successful hunt.

No one, except perhaps for the occasional demon, had ever called Dean Winchester stupid when it came to book smarts. Sure, over the years his family had fallen into certain roles, ones best suited to their particular talents, and while it had often fallen to Sam to do the research and the big thinking, it didn't mean that Dean and John hadn't been just as smart. It just meant that it was understood that Dean's talent was hand to hand combat and found at the bottom of an oil can. Give him an engine and he could take it apart and rebuild it for you. Give him a Wendigo and he could have it flayed for you by morning. His attention might waiver madly every time he tried but he could do the research (and well) but at the same time he understood what kids with ADHD went through and often wondered if he'd suffered from some form of it himself. It wasn't like their father had any way to get them tested for things like that and luckily their steady diet of hunting had given Dean plenty of opportunities to burn off his excess energy.

Dean thought suddenly of his father and wondered what John would think about what was going on between his sons. John's idea of conflict resolution had usually involved locking Sam and Dean in a room together to fight it out until they did with fists what just didn't work with words sometimes. Looking back Dean didn't always agree with the way his father had handled things, but he could understand it on some level. If he really thought about it, what their entire lives had lacked was a woman's touch. Had they been in possession of that one critical piece, even if it had been some other woman other than their mother, their lives would have been completely different. Dean took that thought and weighed its significance. On the one hand, he and his brother had managed to scrape out the best life they could with what they had been given, but on the other the thought of having the quintessential apple pie life was just too tempting not to contemplate. He had a taste of it once, with the Djinn back in Joliet but even that glimpse had been fractured, lacking something crucial.

Sam

And so he had come to the root of all his problems. Sam apparently thought Dean put his own well being before everything else when in actuality all he had ever tried to do ever since he was five years old and a baby Sam had been thrust into his arms, was to try and protect his brother.

Protect Sammy.

It was ingrained in his very genetic code now and for Sam to expect him to stop the one thing he'd been doing nonstop for 30 years, was completely unfair. Didn't Sam see? Didn't he get that it was all for him? How could something that felt so right to Dean be seen as so very wrong by Sam? Fuck, even Death himself had told Dean that his constant sacrifice was throwing a wrench into the universe. Soul mates. Isn't that what Ash had called them in heaven? If he was just following his apparent destiny, why did it continually kick the ever living shit out of him? Looking over his scorecard, there had been some big wins over the years, but more often than not his colossal losses had overshadowed any victories. Then to add insult to injury he now had to move every single time he'd managed to give the universe the finger and save Sam right over into that ever growing losses column.

God, he was such a girl and in frustration Dean slammed down the top of his laptop and earned a few scowls from the folks nearest him. He'd put 600 miles between himself and Sam and still he couldn't get the bastard or his words out of his head. This road trip just wasn't living up to his expectations.

When the waitress returned to give him his check, he checked his anger and accepted it with a wink, asking her in the process if she knew of any nearby motels that wouldn't give him fleas. He smiled and flirted, all the while pushing his emotions back down where they belonged, pissed at himself for letting them out in the first place. The pretty (yet way too young) waitress bumbled through her answer and managed to give him the name of a local motel through her blushes. Leaving her a generous tip just for the hell of it and because he could, he shut the laptop down and buttoned his jacket a little higher against the impending winter bitterness. He didn't get far, though, and stood like a kid outside a candy store with his nose pressed against the pie display case until an elderly woman popped up from behind the counter and asked him if he wanted anything to go. Whole apple pie securely packed in a takeout bag, Dean left the warmth of the truck stop and dived into the frigid February air. Sometime during dinner snow had begun to fall and it swirled around the asphalt at his feet as he made his way back to the Impala. In the bitter cold the snow was little more than tiny bombs of ice and they bounced off his exposed skin as he fumbled with the keys to the car.

It would take ages for the Impala to warm up so he let his baby idle, feeling the unwavering rumble of the engine tingle every nerve in his body. She'd survived 2 major crashes, the apocalypse, involuntary retirement, and suburbia and still managed to purr like a friggin' kitten. The Impala was quite possibly the one thing in his life that had never let him down. Behind the wheel was where he could truly live and Dean rued the day she took her last breath. Dean figured he could keep her in parts and oil for the rest of  _his_  life, but some day he would be gone and she would pass to someone who would never quite get her the way Dean had. And if Sam had anything to do with it, that day would come sooner rather than later.

With the heaters of the Impala puffing out meager, lukewarm wheezes Dean threw his girl in reverse and went looking for the closest bar.

As it happened, Dean never did make it to the motel that night. He awoke with a horrible crick in his neck passed out in the front seat of the Impala with drool in a pool on the seat beside him. It was a transgression that would have earned Sam (or anyone else who wasn't Dean) a punch in the face but he just wiped the moisture away and tried to figure out where he was. He hadn't gotten very far. The Blue Moon Bar sign blinked at him in the dirty light of the winter morning from under grimy grey snow like a marker that read "Rock Bottom Welcomes: Dean Winchester!"

At least the night hadn't been a total waste. He'd fleeced several of the locals out of quite a bit of cash and was pretty surprised that he'd escaped the bar unscathed. He was down a wingman and truckers could be mean mother fuckers, so it was a miracle he hadn't been jumped, especially since Drunk Dean wasn't known for his manners.

The wad of cash sat like a rock in his pocket and he didn't know whether to congratulate himself on a job well done or open up the door and puke into the snow. Choosing neither option, Dean got out of the car and stretched his protesting muscles. The popping noise scattered out across the empty parking lot as if fleeing from him. He was giving his body a run for its money lately (especially his liver) and he put a hand over his abdomen like some sort of apology.

Dean needed somewhere to freshen up and decided to try his luck back at the truck stop he'd been at the night before. Places like that usually had facilities you could use even though they were seldom clean and you pretty much had to be ready for anything. They were usually reserved for truckers and you had to pay, but Dean and Sam had long ago perfected the art of getting in undetected. Their father had been the one to come up with the idea of using truck stops and more than once in Dean's life they'd come in quite handy.

He didn't run into any trouble and two hours later, feeling more and more human by the minute, Dean was once again on the open road headed toward his destination. He hadn't stopped for breakfast. His body was still loudly protesting his bender the night before and Dean didn't dare tempt fate. He had at least another 12 hour drive ahead of him and the last thing he needed was to stop every hundred miles or so to puke. He kept the apple pie from last night on the seat beside him just in case his stomach did decide later that it was hungry and let the Impala's tires eat away the miles.

There was something exhilarating about speeding down the four lane blacktop without a care in the world. Sure, reality was still there, trailing behind the speeding Chevy and gaining speed but was still no match for the Impala as he opened the throttle wide and let his baby do what she had been built for. At these speeds he was sure to outrun anything that tried to follow.

He kept an eye out for cops, but the stretch of road he was on was a major trucking route and most of the cops he saw throughout the day were busy harassing the semi drivers. For the most part he was free to weave in and out between the trucks only occasionally getting the finger or the occasional honk when he pulled a dick move.

Try has he might, thoughts of his brother invaded his mind even as he pushed the gas down to gain just a little more speed. He was stupid to think he could escape everything completely and his thoughts drifted to Sam. He wondered what his brother had done yesterday when he'd found Dean gone and the vague note he'd left on top of the laptop. Had he been pissed off? Thrown his things in his own duffel and followed? Was he at the diner now, flashing Dean's picture and playing a cop on the tail of a fugitive? Would the cute waitress behind the counter full of pies blush at Sam just like she had at Dean and tell him everything he had done and eaten last night? He'd used a credit card and Sam could track credit cards but as far as the wad of cash in Dean's pocket was concerned, he was off the grid from now on. Would Sam have even stopped at the diner, or would he figure out exactly where Dean was headed and drive straight on through the night to try and corner him in New York? Would Dean roll into town and find Sam waiting for him in the police station, already 10 steps ahead of him just out of spite?

Or maybe, his own voice popped in, he'd taken one look at the note, agreed with Dean's idea that they needed a little space, and had gone about his day without further thought for his brother. Sam apparently had a canny ability to let Dean go and move on, so maybe he wouldn't even be at the bunker anymore when Dean dispatched whatever it was terrorizing a small town in New York and returned to base. It was just dickey enough to be something Sam would do.

To stop the endless scenarios playing over and over in his mind, Dean punched in a new cassette tape and was happy to hear the whine in the speakers had gone. He turned up the volume as loud as he could before his ear drums threatened rupture and tried to drown out the thoughts in his head by singing at the top of his lungs. He filed the miles and the empty hole in the center of his chest with classic rock and apple pie. When his life had turned into bad television, he wasn't sure, but the loud music and the bad food were working so he kept it up for the next 300 miles. If the stress in his life was determined to kill him, he was going to go out fat and happy.


	4. What Do You Do For Money Honey

Dean arrived in Oriskany New York at 2:15am on a Tuesday morning barely able to make out the road in front of him. The last half of his trip had been spent cutting through the top of Indiana then Ohio until I-90 dumped him unceremoniously into New York to finish the last leg of his journey under the monotonous black of night. It was amazing how easily little yellow lines blinking past him in the dark could lull him into inattentiveness and more than once he'd wrenched the Impala back into her proper lane to drive the next few miles in white knuckled alertness. Only when the lights of Oriskany finally filled the windshield was he able to pry his aching fingers from the steering wheel and search for the motel. He was stupid to have tried such long hours in the car without Sam. Sam would have been talking incessantly in his ear to keep him awake. Sam would have taken his turn behind the wheel and given him a reprieve from the road. Sam would have...

Pissed off and tired as hell, he parked the car in the parking lot of a motel outside of town and dragged himself to the front office which was cheerier and brighter than it had any business being that early in the morning. The man behind the counter leered at him with missing teeth and thinning hair and Dean paid an astronomical amount of money for a shitty motel room all the while getting the rundown of the latest murder in town from its sleazy manager. Irving (as his homemade name tag proudly proclaimed in black stamped letters on a pale blue strip) had apparently lived in Oriskany his entire life and while Dean was pretty sure he was getting more myth than actual fact from the guy, he let the man prattle on about what had been going on in town while he filled out a grimy registration form with nothing but lies and handed over his fake ID.

"Everyone thinks we got a serial killer on our hands, but I got a different theory." Irving blathered, waiving Dean's room key in the air but refusing to relinquish it and lose his audience. "You hear about all those mobsters they arrested in the city? Everybody knows them Briggs kids had ties to the mob and all that stuff that went on down state, well, I just know that family were involved somehow. What we've got here is an assassin for the Italian Mob out for revenge for their friends gettin' thrown in the slammer!" Dean could vaguely remember reading about some sort of international takedown but he was too tired to do anything but blink stupidly at the motel manager and the key he kept waiving through the air like some sort of point to his rant.

"I'm telling you, man," he finished finally, sliding Dean's key across the counter to him. "It's the mob."

Dean grabbed the key with mumbled thanks and pushed out through the office door with all the speed his tired legs would give him as Irving's constant tirade continued on behind him, following him out into the night. It was far too late and he was way too tired to give any credence whatsoever to the ramblings of some small town nutcase.

The room he'd gotten ended up not being so bad. It was un-themed and for that he was grateful. The last motel he'd been in had been covered in creepy pictures of cats. This one was simple, clean, and had everything he would need to hunker down and work the hunt. The table was even sturdy and didn't list to one side or wobble precariously as they often tended to do in the places he stayed at. There was a kitchenette and small refrigerator and he put the last remnants of his pie in it to save for tomorrow.

After putting what little stuff he had away, Dean fell like a lead balloon into bed and for five blissful hours, he slept like the dead. Even his ever present nightmares (a souvenir from hell that had never really gone away) went unremembered and stayed that way when his eyes cracked open the next morning. The motel clock beside the bed read 7:30am in angry red numbers and he'd been rudely driven from his sleep by a relentless pounding at his motel door. Fuming and ready to murder Sam if it was him behind the fist, Dean pulled on a t-shirt and his jeans and yanked the door open viciously, reprimand dying on his lips at the sight that greeted him.

A young sheriff's deputy stood looking at him from the sidewalk outside the motel room with his head cocked to one side, smacking gum and looking Dean over with condescending faked disinterest. Dean did a quick mental check of himself to make sure he hadn't answered the door with a gun in his hand but thankfully his haste to get to the door thinking it was Sam had saved him that automatic trip to the local jail. The look the deputy was giving him was ice cold and Dean felt an instant twinge in his gut that had him tensing in the doorway and on high alert in a heartbeat. Intent vibrated in the very air around the deputy who couldn't have been a day over 25 and Dean wondered briefly at what he'd done to deserve the ire of the sheriff's department so soon after hitting town. He usually didn't get to this stage with local law enforcement until he started interfering with their investigations.

"That your black Chevy parked over there?" The kid asked with a forced smile, pushing the brim of his hat up with his middle finger then gesturing toward Dean's car with a tilt of his head.

"It is," Dean answered simply, looking over at the Impala and seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

"Notice anything funny about your park job?" Dean looked from the deputy to the Impala then back again, trying to get a read on what the officer was getting at. When Dean didn't respond the deputy was happy to point out the issue with a sneer.

"You've got two tires over into the handicapped spot."

The gold name tag on the Deputy's uniform read 'Hayes' but the name didn't ring a bell with Dean. Whoever the kid was, he was low on the totem pole, not even worthy of a mention on the town's website, and apparently was trying to make up for it with posturing. The left tires of the Impala were resting on the yellow line between the regular spot and the handicapped one, but not even near being all the way over.

"I suppose all you big city reporters think you can just come to my town and do whatever the hell you want, dontcha?" the Deputy spat acidly, squaring his shoulders and glaring at Dean full on.

Dean stared dumbfounded at the deputy for a beat, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on when it dawned on him. He'd been in enough small towns to know the signs. The murders had been in the paper, a national paper, and that meant that reporters had been to town and were probably still there stirring up trouble and getting into people's personal business. Small towns like this often had secrets and didn't welcome attention, unless of course it was for some positive bull like a world record for growing the biggest pumpkin or some high honor bestowed upon one of its citizens. Attention because of something like a string of murders, however, made the townspeople twitchy and on the defensive so while Dean understood why he was being pulled out of his (semi) nice bed at 7am by some bottom of the heap deputy with a chip on his shoulder, he wasn't exactly pleased about it. The deputy was looking for someone to make an example of, exert some control over and Dean guessed by the way the young guy practically vibrated with anticipation, he was hoping Dean would start talking back and give him the perfect target. Knowing what he needed to do, Dean released the tension in his frame and leaned nonchalantly against the door frame with arms loosely crossed.

"You know what officer, I got in so late last night that I didn't even notice I'd done that. I'd be happy to move it right now if you'd like." He could tell that his response was not the one the deputy had been hoping for and the glower he was giving Dean intensified.

"Yes,  _sir_ ," Dean didn't think he'd ever heard the word spoken quite so vehemently before, "I'd like that very much." Trying not to smile and give himself away, Dean disappeared back into the room to grab his keys from off the dresser.

"License and registration while you're at it," the Deputy called from the doorway and Dean grabbed the ID he'd used last night before throwing on his coat and heading back outside. He held his driver's license out to the deputy who looked back and forth between it and Dean, not taking it.

"What part of License  _and_  registration did you not understand?" The near irresistible urge to laugh out loud tickled the back of Dean's throat as he desperately tried not to let his amusement at the situation telegraph across his face. The little prick was going to try every trick in his book to try and get a rise out of Dean who instead of being dutifully obliging, gleefully thought of the revenge he would enact on the poor arrogant son of a bitch when this was all over. The threat of laughter averted with a cleverly timed cough into his hand, Dean put on his best look of detachment and nodded his understating to the deputy before walking over to the Impala and retrieving the registration. He was careful to grab the corresponding forgery to his current identity and thanked the empty heavens for Sam's anal retentiveness and endless ambition to be as thorough as possible on hunts.

Dean passed the ID and the registration to the deputy who took it with a huff then stood looking back and forth between Dean's picture and his actual face, even going so far as to scratch his thumbnail over the photo in the corner then hold the plastic card up to the weak morning sunlight. Apparently satisfied that the ID wasn't a fake, he waved a hand for Dean to continue.

Dean climbed behind the wheel of the car then maneuvered the Impala into the precise center of the parking space and tried not to crack a smile when the deputy walked the perimeter of the car, checking each side to make sure he'd done it right. Adding further douche-baggery to the whole situation, he flashed Dean a sarcastic ok sign after making his circuit then proceeded to take his grand old time filling out the ticket he was preparing, going so far as to have Dean hold up his own license so he could copy from it. He knew the kid was just doing it to get under his skin but he couldn't help a little flicker of anger as the deputy stood waving the bright pink copy under his nose when he'd finished.

"I suggest," the deputy started, clicking his pen shut with exaggeration and putting it back into his pocket, "that you pay more attention to how you drive, Mr. Dowle." Dean looked down at the pink paper in his hands then closed his eyes to keep from smiling. The kid had fined him for both parking in the handicapped spot and for not wearing his seat-belt. It was brilliant really.

Dean looked up at the cop keeping his face a mask of complete calm and watched as the realization dawned on the deputy's face that his last desperate attempt had failed. Dean calmly thanked the man for his time with a cool voice devoid of emotion and turned to leave just as the deputy's face began to turn an amusing shade of puce. Dean didn't get far before a hand on his forearm stopped him, the world hushing and going completely still in the space of a moment around him.

Unwritten Rule Number One: You never, ever, under any circumstances, ever put your hands on a Winchester when his back is turned.

Red flashed in the air around Dean who clamped down on the instinct to strike as he turned to face the deputy. The kid had the good sense to take a few steps back and put up his hands in placation at the look he saw in Dean's eyes. Instant electricity existed in the space between the two men and the amusement Dean had managed to maintain throughout his entire encounter with the deputy evaporated in an instant. The look he gave held the promise of violence, gave a glimpse into the soul of a dangerous hunter who had nothing left to lose.  _"Try me"_  it said and they stood like that for an immeasurable moment, the power struggle palpable in the air, two immovable beings locked in a war for dominance with a clear winner but the loser unwilling to concede. Finally the deputy dropped his hands and the moment passed and Dean was Dean again.

"Just make sure you pay that before you leave town," was all he said before getting back into his patrol car and leaving the parking lot on the whine of a bad alternator belt. Dean studied his ticket again and sighed, hoping it wasn't a portent of things to come.

Realizing he was still standing in the middle of the parking lot staring stupidly at the ticket, Dean shoved the paper into his pocket and made his way back to his room. From the corner of his eye he caught movement in the motel office's window, blinds returning to their original position, and he wondered how long it would take everyone in town to know what had gone down between him and the deputy.

His door was still open and he slipped in, closed it behind him and leaned against the wood to cast a sad sideways glance at his unkempt bed, remembering how comfortable he'd been only 20 minutes ago. After his adventure in the parking lot there would be no getting back to sleep so he decided instead on showering and then planning out his day.

He didn't want to visit the police station too soon, Deputy Assface needed some time to puff up his chest before Dean came in to promptly deflate him so he figured his best bet was to start with the locals. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could get some good food and some good information all in one shot since Sam wasn't around to share in the work.

While a part of Dean had hoped Sam would have followed him to New York and shown up at his door this morning, there was something comforting about the idea of working the hunt alone with the knowledge that he only had himself to worry about. Being Sam Winchester's brother was no picnic and certainly a full time job and one it was high time he took a break from. If Sam wanted to think that Dean's sole purpose in life was to protect him so he wouldn't be alone, then let him. In Oriskany, NY Dean Winchester was only going to worry about one person: Dean Winchester... and, a small voice in his head reminded him, any civilians in the town who needed saving. Dean sighed and tried to dislodge some of the weight that thought carried with it.

He was never going to truly be free of it all because, unlike Sam, cashing in his chips and giving up the life was never going to be in the cards for him. He'd never be able to fold the royal flush in his hands, walk away from the monstrous bet his father had laid down for him, and live a normal life. There would always be people to save and things to hunt and Dean would be doing it until the day it killed him. Even with Lisa and Ben he hadn't been truly able to lay down the sword and be still. There was never going to be any other kind of life for him in this world of monsters and pure evil and he thought he might actually be okay with that now. The only downside to his chosen path was that it tended to get those closest to him (or anyone around him, for that matter) killed and mostly because, he realized with a sense of sudden clarity, he was always having to sacrifice them to save Sam and vice versa. Maybe the way to solve all their apparent problems was to separate from Sam completely? But that thought had his knees buckling under the weight and his shoulders drooping further with the heaviness of it all. No, Sam was his brother and no matter what, family came first, even if they didn't want to.

Conflicted and royally pissed off now, Dean went into the room's tiny bathroom and took a steaming hot shower, letting the water wash away what he couldn't let go of himself. He rested his forehead against the tile, tried not to be sickened by the mildew in the grout, and let the scalding water fall in icy hot rivers down his back. Usually this particular cleansing ritual brought up visions of hell, but wasn't that really what he was living in right now anyway, cut off from the people he depended on and whom he'd incorrectly assumed had relied on him? With a little more force than he intended, Dean pulled his head away from the wall then slammed it angrily back into the tile, setting his teeth rattling. The shower was supposed to help him forget, not remind him of what he was missing, of the Sam shaped hole in his heart.

He washed quickly, soaping away the bits he just couldn't handle anymore then shut the tap off with hot water left to spare, trying not to think of why. Fresh clothes and several layers of them helped a bit too and by the time he laced his boots up and was ready to go, he felt a bit more at home in his skin again. Content for the first time in days at the prospect of finally getting out into the winter air to stretch his legs and give his tired mind something else to think about, Dean stood and tried to break apart some of the stiffness in his joints that insisted on settling in around his bones after his countless hours on the road. What he needed was some home cooked, small town diner breakfast and a big steaming cup (no, fuck it, CARAFFE) of coffee.

It was a little after 9am when Dean rolled down Oriskany's main drag in search of the town's one and only dinner and parked beside a news van who's side mural loudly proclaimed it to be WZEB out of Utica, NY. There wasn't much in town and it looked as through a couple of lingering news crews had set up shop in the little restaurant off the main street much to the chagrin of its solitary waitress. She was giving them a piece of her mind when Dean walked in under the tinkle of a bell. The woman's yellow outfit was something out of the fifties, complete with paper hat, and she rounded on Dean as if hoping he was the cavalry coming to rescue her from the hooligans. When she realized he was just another unfamiliar face in her quickly expanding world, her features went from initial relief, to tearful realization then to all out scowl.

"What do you want?" She snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. She had to have been in her early 70s and when she frowned deep lines highwayed across her face like a map, hinting to him about the life she'd lead and the places she'd been. Laugh lines, smile lines, she had them all on her angry yet grandmotherly face.

"Just a cup of coffee, ma'am," Dean replied, turning the charm up to 11 and respectfully nodding his head with a smile. "If It's not too much trouble."

That must have done the trick because her demeanor immediately softened and she laughed a little. The change in her appearance was remarkable. The smile lit up her face and the wrinkles that had moments ago been there vanished and Dean instantly liked her. She reminded him a little of Ellen.

"Sorry, honey. Why don't you have a seat at the counter, " she said, gesturing towards the seating facing the kitchen with her coffee pot, "and I'll be with you when I'm done with these chuckleheads."

Dean chose a stool at the nearly empty counter (the newspaper folk had taken over the few tables there were in the dining room area) and nodded to a guy sitting a few stools down from him reading a paper. The man was ancient and he watched Dean sit down with yellowed eyes filled with bemusement before returning his gaze to whatever article he was reading. He caught the stare of the cook behind the stainless steel as well, but the man looked away quickly and went back to his work. He got it. He was an outsider and everyone was going to be interested in him.

The stool Dean chose wasn't his first choice of seating, but with no other options, he tried to swallow down the anxiety that always crept up any time he wasn't in control of all elements of a situation. The diner felt safe enough, though you never could tell if someone was possessed or had an uncanny knack for changing into a monster, but Dean had developed something of a sixth-sense about things like that and the place wasn't giving off any warning signs. Plus, the sun was shining for the first time in days and was reflecting off the snow outside and bathing the diner in an otherworldly light. It was days like this one that made it hard to believe that evil ever existed or that it forever sought to seek him out and end him.

Dean scanned his eyes around the diner in one more sweep for danger under the guise of taking in its 50s era retro theme. It was much nicer than a lot of places he'd been in and he could tell the owner took a lot of pride in its upkeep and only hired the best to run it. Dean's eyes landed on his new friend (he decided he'd call her Doris) and he watched her continue to chastise the news people with a smile on his face before turning back to peruse the menu. It was short, but everything on it looked amazing and even though he'd told Doris he was only there for coffee, he was willing to bet a request for breakfast wouldn't change her mind about him again.

Having finished her campaign against the news people at the tables, Doris returned behind the counter and walked up to Dean who turned up the voltage on his smile. The gray haired waitress beamed back at him.

"Are they giving you trouble?" He asked, pleased to see his smile was working its magic. Doris grabbed an empty white cup from below the counter and set in front of Dean before filling it to the brim with coffee, her head cocked to one side and tongue captured between her front teeth.

"Nah, they were just making a mess but I gave 'em a piece of my mind. You gotta do that with people like that or they just walk all over you." Doris set her coffee pot on the counter and gave Dean a wink before pulling out a check pad and asking if he wanted anything to eat. He told her to surprise him, that everything on her menu looked too good to pass up and he couldn't possibly choose, and she scurried back into the kitchen after reaching out to pinch his cheek with a pleased squeal. If any other person in the world had tried that Dean probably would have hauled off and punched them, but with Doris the gesture was motherly and he had allowed it, even rubbing the place where she had touched after she'd disappeared into the kitchen. It's funny how things as small as a touch or a smell can trigger such profound memories. He vaguely remembered learning something in school about how the mind processed memories and how smells could trigger them, but he'd never really been aware of it in practice before. Doris' small gesture and the breakfast smells around him had Dean instantly thinking of his mother and the diner melting into his memories of home and the time he'd spent with her there. He could clearly see the way her white nightgown swished back and forth as she moved from counter to stove, how her feet were always bare and how she'd pinch his cheek not in that annoying way your older than dirt aunt might, but in that loving, soft way only a mother could. Dean must have been making a face because the old man a few stools down was starting at him again, and he put the hand still touching his cheek down to pick up his coffee instead.

He watched Doris through the long open space connecting the kitchen to behind the counter as she helped the cook prepare his order. She chatted along at him easily even though he never acknowledged her presence or uttered a word in reply. Dean made a mental note to check into the guy but the plates that appeared on the ledge for him chased all other thoughts from his mind. Doris puttered out of the kitchen and grabbed the plates before setting them down in front of Dean. It was enough food to feed a friggin' army and Dean thanked her with every bit of sincerity he could find inside himself.

The food was friggin' amazing and Doris would come back behind the counter every so often to hear about it from him then yell back her findings to the cook who would give her a thumbs up without looking up. Even old eyes a few stools away got into it and asked Doris to bring him out a plate in a voice like the deck of a pirate ship.

The old man addressed Doris as Doris and Dean about fell out of his chair. He'd called it completely and was feeling pretty damn proud of himself for having guessed her name. He liked the game. He'd have to remember to try it again.

"Want a refill on that, dear?" Doris asked on her next round and Dean nodded with his mouth full. After she refilled his cup she lingered and he could tell she had something on her mind. He swallowed the food and gave her the go ahead with a look.

"You from around here?" He almost wanted to lie to her and tell her he was, maybe make up a story of a connection with the dead guys' family, just so he could continue on in her good graces, because, quite frankly, he liked this woman. She was spunky and wore a waitress uniform that was all frills and yellow with white polka dots and not many people could pull off something like that. You had to be made of the special stuff. Yet Dean also got the distinct impression that if he tried to lie to this woman she would see right through it and he'd have the door shut in his face and go back to being just another outsider invading her space. In the end he went with vague. She probably thought he was a reporter anyway and if she wanted more information from him, she'd have to work for it.

"No, I just rolled into town last night." Doris nodded at him seriously but the kindness didn't leave her eyes.

"You here about those boys that got killed?"

"Yes ma'am, I am, but not in the way you think." He stated, looking over at the table of reporters. Doris' eyes narrowed at him again with that, and for the briefest of seconds Dean feared that he had lost her, but she didn't stalk away and stood raking her eyes over him as if trying to decipher what he'd just said and then decide if she believed it or not. Finally, after several uncomfortable moments of silence, she spoke again.

"You strike me as a good kid so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and tell you something only once, ok?'' A little taken aback, Dean nodded.

"Oriskany is a special place. We're historic and full of a lot of hard-working folk who haven't always had it so easy. There's history here and it's a living breathing thing that survives by the blood in the ground and the bones beneath your feet, so be careful where you walk. You give her the respect she deserves and you'll do fine while you're here." If Dean had been a reporter like Doris thought he was, he probably would have hit pay dirt with the quote she'd just given him but something in her words had struck a chord with him and he sat chewing on the thoughts she'd pulled out of him.

Dean Winchester wasn't often rendered silent and even with the bright smile and the pat on the arm Doris gave him after her oration, he worked on his breakfast in contemplative silence. Sam had always been the one for delicacy when it came to hunts and Dean was usually the one diving in head first without any thought to the consequences of his actions. Doris was telling him to be gentle with her town, something he wasn't very good at but maybe it was time for 'shoot first and ask questions later' Dean to start looking at things a little differently and reassess how he viewed the world around him... and maybe that was some of the reasoning behind what Sam had said to him the other night... but those thoughts were for another time and he pushed them angrily aside.

"Oh, before I forget" Doris was saying, pulling Dean from his thoughts as she refilled his coffee cup, "if I read any of that in a newspaper or hear it on the TV tomorrow, I'll shoot you where you stand." Doris' comment had the old man down a few stools choking on his chocolate milk and Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't worry," he said with a wink. "You won't."

Instead of moving away again, Doris hovered behind the counter picking at an invisible spot on the countertop like she was waiting for him to keep going. Sensing the opening, Dean jumped at the chance to keep her talking.

"Those men that were killed, did you know them? " He asked it cautiously and tried to convey through his eyes that he really wasn't a reporter like she suspected, but that he was genuinely interested and there to help. He was walking a fine line and Doris eyed him for a second, perhaps second guessing her decision that Dean was alright, but eventually she did answer.

"They weren't local boys. They were construction guys from a city south of here. Utica, I think. Where do you hail from?"

Clever. She was using his interrogation tactics against him and he had the sneaky suspicion that if he didn't answer her questions, he wouldn't get any answers to his own. He decided to stick as much to the truth as he dared.

"I'm from Kansas, drove in last night. Did they have any family in town? Any friends?"

"I've lived in this town for 10 years and I've never seen those men before. They were just here for the job. Your wife and kids back in Kansas?

"No wife, no kids. Just a kid brother but he's being a pain in the ass right now... excuse me, pain in the butt. Notice anything funny or strange around town before they were murdered?"

"Hmm, I don't think so. We're a pretty small community and if something's going on usually someone gets wind of it and spreads it around like wild fire. What line of work are you in?"

"It varies. Can you think of anything going on in the town that was out of the ordinary, maybe not necessarily strange?"

"The only thing I can think of is that they had started renovating the building where the bodies were found and everyone at the historical society was in a tizzy over protecting the 'historical integrity' of the place. Olivia... sorry, she's my friend from the society, was in here not a week ago ranting and raving over the mess the crew was making of the place. You work with your brother?"

"Normally, just not lately. What's so important about the building?"

"Did you see the monument when you rolled into town? No? Well there was a big Revolutionary War battle fought here, one of the bloodiest, and our historical society takes things pretty seriously when it comes to preserving our history. Do you miss him?"

"Who?"  
"Your brother."

"Oh. Not really. How do I get to the police station?"

"Hang a left out of the diner then head up main street. It'll be the first brick building you come to on the right. So, why?

"Why what?"

"Why don't you miss him?"

"My brother?"

"Yeah."

"I guess because he was being a pri... an idiot and I just don't need that right now. What can you tell me about the building where they were found?"

"I think it started out as a tavern then it was a couple different things over the years before my friend Mable bought it and turned it into a Bed & Breakfast in the 60s. Been that way ever since until a few weeks ago when the old bat got it in her head to renovate it back into a tavern. No offence, Harvey." She called out, looking over at old eyes.

"None taken, Doris." the old man replied back from down the counter.

"That's Harvey, Mable's gentlemen friend. Lord knows I'll get a phone call from her later tonight asking why I was running around town calling her an old bat." Doris worried her spot on the counter again with a wash cloth and their rapid fire banter sat smoking at a dead stop in its tracks. Dean tried to revive it.

"What about the building itself? Have there been any other violent deaths there? Maybe people seeing strange things or smelling something funny?" This line of questioning always earned him quizzical looks and Doris was no exception.

"Uh, no. Nothing like that. I think our town pays the reaper in fallen soldiers. If you want violent deaths, you go outside town." Dean got a feeling that there was something more to what she'd said, but he let it lie.

"Who owned the building before Mable?" He asked, changing the subject.

"You know, I don't remember. You could find out down at Town Hall, I bet. Ask for Manny and tell him Doris sent you over. He'll take care of you." Sensing she might be ending the conversation, Dean set his dishes in a neat little pile that Doris swept away and drained the last dregs of coffee in his cup. He pulled his wallet out and asked her how much breakfast was and she batted the $20 in his hand away.

"You're a good kid and you made Abraham's day by ordering all that food. He's autistic and anyone who can pull a thumbs up from him eats for free. Keep it." He tried to talk her out of it, like anyone who's given a free meal must, but she refused his money with mock insult and chased him away from her counter with a flick of a towel. He called out his thanks to Abraham on his way out, almost wanting to apologize to the young man for his earlier assumption about his behavior.

Before he pushed through the dinner door, Doris stopped him.

"Wait! I didn't get your name, honey!" and without even thinking about it he answered truthfully.

"It's Dean. See you around, Doris."

Deciding it was best to leave the Impala where she was and walk, least he have another run in with his deputy friend, Dean turned his collar up against the cold and walked up along Main Street in the dizzying sunlight. He almost needed sunglasses the sun was so bright, and he squinted his way through the directions Doris had given him. It was too cold for the sun to do any real warming, but it was a welcomed change from the steely grey days that seemed to follow Dean everywhere he went for the past two months. He lingered on his walk down the street, actually taking the time to admire the way the bricks of the colonial buildings drank in the sun then radiated the light back out in a happy display of synergy. It was a difficult scene to leave behind but he'd arrived at the doors to the sheriff's office and it was time to get his revenge.

Anticipation fluttering in his chest, Dean pulled the glass doors of the building wide open and walked into the offices with purpose. It took his eyes a minute to adjust, but he was happy to spot his friend, Deputy Hayes, sitting behind a desk with his feet propped up and looking proud of himself. As soon as he spotted Dean he grinned from ear to ear and met him at the front desk.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Dowle. Come to pay your ticket, have you?"

"Actually," Dean smiled, "I was hoping I could talk to your boss." Hayes put an elbow on the desk and rested his chin on his palm, looking up at Dean with amusement.

"And why would I let you do that?"

"Because," Dean said, pulling out the worn leather badge holder from his back pocket and holding it up for the kid to clearly see, "I need to talk to him about the arrogant pricks he has working for him."

The look on deputy Hayes' face was priceless and Dean wished he could pull his phone out to take a picture to memorialize it forever. The kid's face went from pure white to red with rage then back to white again in the span of a moment and this time Dean didn't bother to hide his obvious glee. It was perfect, just like he pictured.

"Now, if you could please go tell Sherriff Zerbak that Agent Dowle is here to see him, I'd really appreciate it." Deputy Hayes looked back and forth between the FBI badge and Dean with sheer terror, unsure of what to do.

"I... you... you should have identified yourself!"

"The sherriff please, Deputy Hayes," Dean chided. The kid looked near tears now and he shuffled off dejectedly to the back of the office to knock at a closed set of doors. He disappeared behind shaded glass then reemerged a few seconds later with an older gentlemen hot on his heels.

"Agent Dowle, what seems to be the trouble here?" The town sheriff was a dignified looking older gentlemen with silver hair and a determined gait and had that everyman quality about him like he would be ready at a moment's notice to climb the nearest tree and rescue your cat. Apparently luck was on Dean's side on this hunt because he could tell with one look that he would have no problem handling the sheriff and that the man would be able to deal with things if Dean had to clue him in to certain facts about what he was doing in Oriskany.

"I was hoping to discuss the recent murders with you Sheriff, and maybe get this taken care of," Dean pulled the pink paper ticket from his pocket and watched as Deputy Hayes turned a shade or two whiter, if that was even possible. Sheriff Zerbak pulled a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and perched them on the end of his nose before taking the paper from Dean and reading it over. When he was done he looked over the rims of his glasses at Deputy Hayes with irritation.

"Andy, is this the man from this morning you were telling me about? The reporter?"

"Uncle Ron, he didn't tell me who he was!" Hayes whined pointing an accusing finger in Dean's direction and managing to lose all the air in his chest at once to shrink down into the awkward kid he really was. Sheriff Zerbak pulled his reading glasses off his face and pinched the bridge of his nose before turning back to Dean.

"Agent Dowle, I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience my deputy showed you this morning." Judging by the way the sheriff was looking at him, Dean guessed Andy had told him every single detail of how their meeting had gone down. "We will of course drop these tickets for you and cooperate fully with your investigation while you're here." That was music to Dean's ears. Whatever resentment he held for the parking lot incident evaporated as he realized the dumb ass deputy had just made his job a little easier.

"Will you be wanting to file a formal complaint against my deputy?"

"Sheriff!" Hayes huffed indignantly, smartly not repeating his early snafu of calling his boss, Uncle.

"Andy, please go back to your desk and shut the hell up." Hayes' jaw hit the floor, but he followed orders and stomped over to his desk to type angrily at his computer.

"No, Sheriff, a complaint won't be necessary. If you could just take care of those for me, that's all I need." Dean answered airily, basking in his victory.

"Now, what can you tell me about these murders?"


	5. Knockin' On Heaven's Door

Revenge, they say, is a dish best serve cold and if there were ever two things in the world Dean new most about, it was food and revenge. So, it was with joyful abandon that he situated himself at the empty desk facing Deputy Hayes to go through the investigation files on the town's latest murders one by one smiling happily every time he met the man's angry eyes. The sheriff was bending over backwards to accommodate Dean who couldn't remember an encounter with local law enforcement that had gone so smooth. Usually he was met with resistance and resentment that the FBI was getting involved in a local matter, but Dean could tell by the files and the small police force that the murders were turning out to be a bit more than they could handle. He was sure Deputy Hayes' youth and attitude weren't helping matters much either. He was tall and well built and if it came down to a brawl between them the kid would probably be able to hold his own well enough against Dean in the scrap (for a while at least) but what he lacked was confidence in the face of real confrontation. The kid thrived on passive aggressiveness, an easier battle tactic for him and one more suited to his snively personality.

Going through the evidence and the written reports Dean's trained eyes could tell the Oriskany Sherriff's Department didn't have much. There were no leads, nothing in the way of any real evidence and certainly no suspects. There didn't seem to be anything that suggested the supernatural at first glance either, but something had managed to squeeze the two men to the point their chests exploded and nothing in the photos of the room they were found in suggested a reason why. The bodies were being held in another town (Oriskany wasn't big enough for a coroner) and Dean figured he probably needed to make a trip out to see them himself. Photos were helpful, but they didn't give the full effect of the damage and he wanted to check for other signs only a hunter would notice and that a crime scene photographer might not have found relevant. If anything, a good place to start would be at the building itself.

"Sheriff, is the Bed and Breakfast far from here?" He asked when the sheriff emerged from his office next.

"Not far at all. I've got a couple of my guys sitting on it until we get a handle on what's been going on. You want to ride over with me to see it?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Dean colored his words saccharine and smiled over at Deputy Hayes who quickly averted his eyes.

Being in a police cruiser as a passenger was a truly odd feeling. Any time Dean had ever been in one before he'd been handcuffed and in the back behind the protective screen. It was kind of cool to actually be sitting up in the front, crammed in beside the sheriff's mobile data terminal feeling like a goofy little kid seeing a fire truck for the first time after years of playing with its miniature and being awed at the epic scale of what the real thing looked like. He couldn't help the smile that erupted on his face.

"I gotta say Agent Dowle, you are not what I expected a federal agent to be like." The sheriff said as they pulled out onto Main street.

"How do you mean," Dean asked cautiously, not looking at the man and trying to appear unfazed by his question.

"Well, on TV you always see them in sharp suits ordering everyone around and they're usually with a partner." So the sheriff had picked up on his missing half, had he?

"I take it you haven't had much interaction with the Bureau?" Dean asked casually.

"Nah. Your closet field office is 5 hours away and nothing has ever happened here that required FBI involvement. Nope, never even met your SAC. " Dean almost laughed out loud at the abbreviation but it was music to his ears. No interaction with the FBI before and he hadn't even met the Special Agent in Charge of the local office, this would definitely work to Dean's advantage. Add that to the fact that, caught in a blinding cloud of embracement over his nephew, the man hadn't even verified Dean's credentials, things were pretty much aces for him at the moment. He could only wonder when the rug would be pulled out from underneath him and his luck would run out.

"Well, I do have the suit but I wanted to walk around town a little this morning and I sometimes find the ol' Brook's Brothers doesn't always make people want to open up and talk to me." Even if it was a bargain basement knock off.

"I hear you there," the sheriff threw in with a snort.

"As far as my partner goes, he's finishing up a case we were working on down state and I decided to come on this one solo."

"Did you find out anything interesting this morning?"

"Just that Doris makes a mean cup of coffee and that your deputy has a chip on his shoulder."

"Yeah, about that... Andy means well, we've just been having a lot of trouble with reporters lately and sometimes that kid just doesn't think. We're a small town, Agent Dowle, and we tend to get a little jealous when anyone else comes to play in our sandbox."

"I get it," Dean said, easing a little now that the conversation had shifted away from him. "It can't be easy to work with family like that, either." And wasn't he just the expert on that.

"You caught that, huh? I was hoping you hadn't. I've been telling him ever since he started working for me, that he couldn't call me Uncle Rob at work but it's in one ear and out the other with kids these days." Having not so long ago been one of those 'kids', Dean nodded in agreement.

"Honestly, Sheriff, I get it. No hard feelings and I appreciate all the help you're giving me in looking into this."

"It's no problem. I figured there was a chance when the 2nd body showed up and the media started reporting about it that it was only a matter of time before you guys showed up. Here we are!"

The cruiser parked in front of a really gorgeous old building on the tree lined Utica Street. Had it been the height of summer and the tree's been in full leaf, the street would have been something out of a colonial era painting. Large stately houses lined the roadway, as numerous as the trees, blinking down at him through windows surrounded by intricate trim and the bygone genius of long dead men. Dean was no history buff, he'd sailed through those classes by exploiting Sam's love of all things old and dreaming of shop class, but he could still appreciate the history that surrounded him. It was a blast from a long ago past and he half expected to see General Washington march down the street with a battalion of soldiers at the ready behind him. Remembering what Doris had told him about the historical society, Dean could understand why they had thrown a tizzy over renovating the building he now stood in front of.

Sheriff Zerbak led him down a cobbled path and under the police tape held aloft by a bored looking deputy. Dean made it a point to thank the guy (something he'd picked up long ago that usually helped him earn points with the local officers) and it won him an appreciative nod from the deputy. Before going in the sheriff stopped to ask if anything had happened on the deputy's watch and he told them that a couple of reporters had tried to sneak in the back but other than that, things had been pretty quiet.

Dean followed the sheriff into the Bed and Breakfast and he was immediately steered toward a set of stairs guarded by a large wooden door. Access to the basement was not granted through a traditional door with a knob but through a monstrous wooden slab of oak held closed with an ancient yet intricately made cast iron door latch. Dean marveled at its as the sheriff maneuvered it open then started down the stairs first.

"Give me a minute to get light on in there, there still isn't any electricity down here," he said over his shoulder before disappearing into the darkness. A moment later Dean heard a generator roar to life somewhere outside the building and Zerbak reappeared at the base of the stairs.

"OK, all good."

Dean descended down the stone steps and felt as though he were walking into another time and place. The atmosphere in the basement was completely different and the air felt as old as the very walls which contained it. Had Dean and the sheriff not been wearing their modern clothes or the basement illuminated by electric light, Dean would have suspected that he'd walked through some kind of vortex that had transported him through time and dumped him in the past The ceilings were low, but you usually found that in buildings as old as this one, and the very stone felt alive with the memories of the past. The psychic thing had been Sam's shtick, but he had his own particular kind of intuition and it was tingling inside of him now, activated by unfamiliar flashes of sights and sounds and smells shooting out at him from every direction. He had to steady himself for a moment, the feeling almost overwhelming.

"They're renovating this to be a tavern?" Dean asked, almost to himself.

"What I heard was that the level above us will be the bar area, but that the owner wanted down here done to. Not sure what for."

The weird feeling finally passed and firmly rooted in the present once again, Dean made his way over to where the bodies had been found. A few lamps made a perfect circle of light on the floor illuminating the space where evidence of the deaths still stained the stone.

"This is where the bodies were found?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer but hoping it would start the sheriff talking.

"Yeah. David and Samuel Briggs. David owned the company doing the work to the place and Sammy was on his crew." Dean's heart jumped a little at the mention of Sam's name, but he quickly swallowed it down.

"And you guys found nothing around them to explain how they'd been crushed, no murder weapon?"

"No. None. That's what makes this case so frustrating. I've got two guys, big construction worker guys, who had their guts squeezed out through their eyeballs and no evidence what so ever of what could have done it. You saw the pictures, Agent, there's nothing here that could cause that kind of damage." the sheriff huffed in frustration, gesturing to the remnants of gore on the stone floor. The man was right and Dean cast his eyes around the basement one last time looking for anything that might give a logical reason to why the two men had died. There was nothing however and he was quickly becoming convinced that this was definitely something that was going to require his particular talents to end. What he needed was some time alone to pull out the EMF meter burning a hole in his back pocket and do a real sweep of the place.

"Anyway," the sheriff continued, " with nothing to go on and no suspects, we're releasing the crime scene later today but my men will guard it 'round the clock. The scene clean up people will be here soon and hopefully that's the end of this whole mess for a while."

"Who on the crew found the bodies?" he asked, a little perturbed at the sheriff's eagerness to be done with everything.

"I think his name was Daniels. He was another worker on the crew."

"I don't think I got his information when I was at your office, do you think you could ask Deputy Hayes to make me a copy of your files and send it over to my motel room? I'm staying at that place right off the highway outside town."

"Irving's place?" The sheriff looked amused at this information and Dean figured that didn't bode well for his sleep the next few nights.

"That's the one."

"He keeps it up alright and it's the best place you'll find around here, I just know what a kook he can be," The sheriff answered, picking up on Dean's discomfort. "Anyway, you do your thing here and I'll go call Andy and have him bring that stuff over."

Happy his plan had worked, he watched the sheriff disappear up the stairs and then waited for the telltale sound of the front door slamming shut. When he was sure that he was completely alone, Dean pulled the EMF meter out from his back pocket and switched it on. Almost immediately it started smoking in his hands and emitting sparks out the back casing with lights flashing madly. With an earsplitting belch of octaves the EMF meter let out a last dying wail then silenced, going completely dead in his hands. Heat bit at his palm and Dean instinctively let the meter crash to the ground and watched on sadly as it smoked in pieces on the stone floor. Dean swore under his breath then lamented his homemade masterpiece. He'd put a lot of work into that thing, kept it pristine and in good working order only to have it conk out on him at the worst possible moment.

Sighing, Dean bent down to check to see if the meter was safe to pick back up when the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end. Grabbing the EMF, he slowly pulled himself back to full height then concentrated on his surroundings with body tense. He could feel the faintest movement of air ghosting against the skin of his backside but his ears picked up no hint of sound. The temperature in the room had dropped minutely but not with the sudden plunge that usually proceeded full manifestation. No, he was being watched and assessed and the feeling was bringing up gooseflesh on his arms and driving him mad with the need to whirl around and face whatever it was that was behind him. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the oppressive feeling beginning to grow in the room, Dean turned his upper body slowly around to peer into the darkness behind him. Whatever was there with him had not revealed itself but Dean could feel it watching him and slowly growing agitated at his presence. The oppressiveness was getting palpable now and Dean sensed that if he didn't hightail it out of there, he was going to come face to face with whatever was down there in that basement with him, unprepared and outgunned.

"Okay, I get it," he said aloud. "I'm leaving."

Dean took the stairs two at a time and didn't stop until he was in the sunshine of the upper level and as far away as he could get from the dark passageway leading down into the basement. As if glad to be rid of him, the large oak door swung heavily shut on its own and shook the very floorboards beneath his feet.

"Oh yeah," he said out loud, scrubbing a hand across his face, "Definitely a hunt here."

The noise of the door slamming shut must have caught the attention of the sheriff because he came bounding up the stairs and back into the house.

"What the hell happened?" He asked with real concern in his eyes. Dean willed his wildly beating heart to still and tried to play cool.

"Sorry Sheriff! I was trying to get the door shut and didn't realize how heavy it was." The sheriff looked over at the door and apparently bought his story.

"Oh, well if you're done here, Andy is working on getting the information you wanted. He should have it over to your hotel in a few hours. Was there anywhere else in town you wanted to see?"

"Actually, there are some things I needed to take care of  _out_  of town, " Dean answered, fishing a business card out of his pocket and handing it to the sheriff. "Here's my number. Would you call me if you guys find out anything new?"  
"Sure thing Agent Dowle."

Back out in the cold winter sunshine Dean felt a bit of the oppressiveness lift and he took a deep breath after ducking under the police tape again. He didn't bother looking back at the building sure that if he did he would see some shadowy figure standing in a window and he really wanted to be able to sleep tonight. He'd been dealing with malevolent forces his entire life, yet they still managed to creep him out at times. Monsters you could eviscerate, they were living breathing things that (usually) would die through your normal methods of dispatch, but the incorporeal, well they were a whole different story. There was something disconcerting about an enemy that could at one moment pass through your hand then slam you up against the wall the next. That ability put spirits right up there with demons in Dean's book.

He walked back to the Impala which he'd left parked outside the diner and hoped he'd see Doris through the large front windows, but apparently she'd closed up shop for the day. The lights were off and no one appeared to be inside so he jumped in his car and headed back to the motel. He had a couple of places he wanted to hit up before he lost the light, among them were the morgue where the bodies were being held and the families of the men who had been killed. For that he was going to need his suit this time and he was in and out of the room in 5 or so minutes, tipping an imaginary hat to the blinds of the manager's office after noticing Irving peering out at him again. The gesture had the blinds snapping back to their original position in a flash.

The morgue and the homes of the two men were both in Utica, NY, a larger town about 20 minutes southwest of Oriskany. Driving through Utica was like discovering civilization all over again and Dean was almost surprised to find that hustle and bustle still existed in the world. He could enjoy the quiet of rural life just as much as the next guy, but you could only take dairy farms and cornfields for so long before it started doing things to your brain.

Deciding his best bet was to start at the coroner's office, Dean made his way downtown to the old building where the dead of Utica and its neighboring towns were kept. Gaining access to bodies could be a tricky operation. There was paperwork and procedure to contend with and if you didn't have all your ducks in a row, it could end in disaster. Dean was fairly confident he had all the proper forgeries to get him past a cursory glance, but if the coroner was a dick and took a real good look, Dean would most likely be sent packing. Luckily for him the universe was apparently still smiling down on him and when he walked through the doors of the morgue he was greeted by a jumpy looking kid who sat nervously behind a giant desk in the foyer. Jacob, as he introduced himself, had apparently drawn the short stick among the morgue interns and had been left alone to tend to the dead while the coroner had taken some of his fellow classmates out for field training. Knowing he would get no better chance than this, Dean offered up his paperwork and Jacob led him back to cold storage where Sam and David Briggs were interred for the time being. Whatever power was smiling down on him today, Dean hoped it never left even as he kept glancing over his shoulder waiting for the proverbial kick in the pants that was out there somewhere waiting for him.

The most grizzled and respected of hunters still alive today will tell you, if asked, that they have seen their fair share of dead bodies over the years. What they're less likely to admit, even with the most ardent prodding, is that you never quite get used to the initial shock of seeing a body pulled from cold storage on a steel bed or the smell that assaults your nose when the sheet is drawn back and you get your first glimpse of a body devoid of its soul. It's almost easier, they may admit once you've gotten a whole lot of whiskey into them, when the body is mangled beyond all recognition, because then it just kind of resembles the steak you had for diner. It's when they're pretty much intact that it's the worst. Sometimes the horror of their death is frozen on their faces and you almost want to scare the crap out of the coroner by telling him exactly what kind of creature could put a look like that on a man's face. Dean decided to spare Jacob that particular treat and thanked the kid as an afterthought before he left the room.

Dean pulled the sheet the rest of the way off Samuel Briggs' corpse and tried not to look at the bag of viscera laying beside him on the white paper beneath his body. He hadn't been autopsied yet and whatever had killed him had done half the medical examiners work for him anyway. Dean could make out two twin bruises, long and thin, transecting what was left of Samuel Briggs' chest. The skin was mottled every color imaginable and the damage seemed to suggest that he'd been squeezed rather than crushed. His upper body above the bruising looked like it had exploded from the pressure, his insides having nowhere else to go but out through torn flesh. Dean had never seen anything like it before but he was fairly certain now he was dealing with some kind of spirit. The door slamming shut of its own accord was evidence enough of that and if you got a spirit or ghost that was strong enough or pissed off enough, it was capable of pretty much anything. There was no evidence that this was the work of any kind of monster he knew of so maybe this whole thing was going to end up being something as easy as a salt and burn.

Dean moved over to David Briggs' body next and it was a little easier to digest. He had been neatly autopsied and put back together again so that Dean could clearly see the identical bruises across his chest. They were just like the ones on his nephew and there was no question now that the same thing had killed both men in exactly the same way. Dean just needed to figure out who he was dealing with so that he could find the bones and take care of this once and for all before more people died. The problem he was going to run into was that Oriskany was built on the site of a bloody battle and if it ended up being some soldier doing the killings, he was going to have his work cut out for him. Maybe he'd have some luck with the men's families.

Dean left the coroner's office having gotten everything he was going to out of the bodies and headed to the first address on his list. David Briggs had been married to a woman named Molly and the two owned a home on the outskirts of the city. It was a little house tucked back in a neighborhood that appeared to have been nice at one time, but had long ago started going downhill. That hadn't stopped the Briggs' from apparently making the best of a bad situation. The house was in immaculate condition making its two drooping and neglected neighbors look all the more pathetic.

Dean walked up a carefully shoveled and salted sidewalk to the house's front door and tried to make out a plan of attack. If he found Mrs. Briggs at home chances were she was going to be pretty emotional and he was no doubt just the latest in a long line of people showing up at her door to question her mercilessly about her dead husband. This was the part of the hunt where he missed the old Sam the most. His kid brother used to be the compassionate one of them and used to wear his empathy for others right on his sleeve for anyone to see and people responded to it, too, dumping their sorrows out into Sam's lap like he was their priest. Dean on the other hand... well, Dean was never one for the touchy feely, 'let's get in touch with our emotions' crap so Sam's empathy always rounded them out and made them one hell of an interrogation team. Dean would ask the hard questions and then Sam would help pull out the real answers with those soul searching eyes of his, but Sam was different now and seemed to have lost some critical piece of himself that made him the one people identified with. He was cold now, not in the way he was when he didn't have a soul, but cold in a way that suggested he just didn't care for people anymore. Not like he used to.

_"Same circumstances... I wouldn't."_

Dean shivered and knocked on the door.

It took whoever was answering the door a few seconds to disengage all of the locks but finally a young woman dressed in a simple black dress peered out at him from behind the storm door with red rimmed eyes and a tissue held to her nose. Dean hid a sigh of resignation then held up his badge for her to see.

"Mrs. Briggs?"

"Yes?" She asked, squinting at his badge through the frost on the storm door window.

"I'm agent Dowle from the FBI. May I come in and speak to you about your husband?" Molly Briggs eyed him for a moment, her whole frame trembling and Dean fought the urge to turn around and run like hell.

"You found them, didn't you."

Confused at first about what she meant, it dawned on him that maybe she thought he had come to tell her they'd found the person responsible for her husband's death. God, where was Sam when he needed him.

"No ma'am, I just have some questions to ask you for our investigation." She stood unmoving for a moment in the doorway and he wondered if she was about to shut the door in his face.

"You'll need to make it quick, " She said finally. "I'm due over at the funeral home in a few minutes."

She held the door open for Dean who stepped over the threshold only narrowly avoiding trampling the tail of an orange and white tabby cat who streaked out past his feet nearly tripping him. Catching himself before he could fall, he watched the cat dart back under a couch in the living room to his left and bit back a curse.

The interior of the house was as pristine and well maintained as the outside kept that way apparently by a 'no shoes in the house' policy that also applied to visiting FBI agents. He looked pretty ridiculous padding along behind her down the hallway in nothing but his suit and mismatched socks, his boots sitting on a mat just inside the door mocking him as he walked away. He followed her into a kitchen and took the seat she waved him into before moving away to start a pot of coffee.

"Would you like some?" She asked without turning around and hoping it would set her a little more at ease with him, he accepted. When she returned to the table with the steaming mugs, she was crying again.

"I'm sorry," She apologized, brushing away tears with a tissued knuckle, "I know you're just trying to do your job but I don't know if I can go through this again."

"I'm really sorry about your husband, Mrs. Briggs..." he started.

"Please," she said, putting up a hand to stop him, "if you're going to make me relive this again, the least you can do is call me Molly." Dean nodded and took a breath. Yeah, this was definitely going to suck.

"I know how hard this is for you Molly, but I need you to take me through everything you remember about that night one more time." He tried to put all the compassion and understanding in him behind his eyes and watched with relief as she squared her shoulder in determination and dried her eyes.

"David and I got ready for bed at about 11 o'clock that night. We ended up talking for a little while about his job in Oriskany."

"What was he saying about it? Dean asked.

"I guess there was some historical society nutcase who was overseeing the project for the town and she was giving David a real hard time about some things. He's got a real eye for what he does and I think he was just frustrated that no one was taking him seriously or listening to the great ideas he had for the place.

"He was doing restoration work, right?"

"Yeah and he was really excited about too, even with the historical society hoops he had to jump through. Big jobs like that are really hard to come by, especially with the economy the way it is right now. We were even talking about using most of the money he was going to make on a down payment for new house. We don't live in the best neighborhood anymore as you probably noticed." She said with a sad, watery smile.

"Molly, did anyone have a beef with David Did he have any enemies?" Dean figured there was always the chance that someone, maybe a rival or someone in David's company, had used bad mojo to send a spirit after the two men somehow. He'd seen it before.

"Well there were some people who thought David never should have gotten the job, but no one who was angry enough to kill him over it. Besides, the company had the contract, killing David wouldn't have changed that."

"What about someone on his crew?" Molly snorted at the question.

"No way in hell. Every single one of the guys on David's crew loved him. He was the kind of guy who believed in giving people second chances and he saved the life of every single guy who worked for him. Even my nephew. Sammy had a really hard time growing up. My sister was into drugs and it was this whole big mess that Sammy got sucked into but David got him out. He bailed him out of jail after we had all turned our backs on him, told him he'd give him a job and steady paycheck if he stayed clean and went back to school and helped him turn his life around. That was the kind of man David was and people loved him for it. Do you have anyone in your life like that, Agent?"

 _"Not anymore,"_  He wanted to say but lied with a nod.

"After you guys went to bed that night, what happened?"

"I slept right through the night until my alarm woke me up at 4:30 for work. David does this thing when I first get up in the morning and when he didn't do it that's when I realized he was gone. I searched the house for him but all I found was the front door standing wide open. His truck was still there so he didn't drive anywhere, it was like he'd just gotten out of bed and walked out of the house. I'm a pretty light sleeper and if someone had kidnapped him, I would have heard  _something_. Anyway, I called the police but they wouldn't do anything until he was missing for 48 hours so I called everyone I could think of and they all came over and we walked the streets looking for him..." The memories once again pulling tears from her she paused as the words lodged in her throat, unable to get past the emotions choking her. They sat for a moment in silence, Molly Briggs in a cloud of sorrow with tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks and Dean sitting just outside of it all, wanting to help but not knowing how.

"We never stopped looking," she said next, finally able to speak again. "Not until we got the call that they'd found his body in Oriskany."

Molly reached for another tissue and blew her nose, giving him a look of apology at the indiscretion but Dean was to wrapped up in thoughts of what to do next to get grossed out. There were questions that he still needed to ask her and they were the kinds of questions that got him thrown out of houses or that convinced people he was completely off his rocker. Then there was the chance that pushing Molly any further for information about her husband would send her over the edge and it was an edge Dean Winchester would be no good at pulling her back from. He was going to have to try, there were lives at stake.

"Molly, did you notice anything strange about David's behavior that night?"

"How do you mean?"

"Was he angry about anything, maybe not acting like himself?" Molly thought about it for a minute before answering.

"Not that I remember... but you know what, now that I think about it, I remember him being in a really good mood actually. We were looking real estate listings..." He saw her eyes mist over again and knew he had to finish this quick or risk losing her.

"Did he mention anything strange at the construction site? Maybe things getting moved around and not being where he left them or people being there who weren't supposed to be?" She looked a little confused at his question but still answered.

"No, not that he mentioned."

"I know this question will seem a bit odd, but did you notice anything strange in your house that night? Weird noise like maybe there were rats in the walls?"

"You don't think there was someone in our house watching us, do you?" She asked, fear filling her eyes as she cast them around the kitchen as if expecting some unseen assailant to jump out and attack them.

"We're looking into every angle." he answered. She misunderstood him, but it worked and ran with it. "Did you notice anything?"

Molly thought hard for a moment then shook her head. "No, nothing like that."

"How about any weird smells, maybe like sulfur?"

"Sulfur?" she repeated and there it was. She was looking at him like he was crazy. 10 minutes tops and she would be throwing him out into the snow by his shirt tails.

"I don't write the field guide, just ask the questions," he smiled, trying to deflect.

"No, I didn't smell  _sulfur_  the night my husband was kidnapped then murdered Agent Dowle." And just like that Dean knew his time was up and that Molly Briggs was fine with that conclusion too. Rising from his seat he offered her one final thing.

"I know that there are a lot of unanswered questions about your husband's death and I hope you know that we are doing everything in our power to catch whoever did this to you and your family. I'm truly sorry for your loss and I hope you guys can get through this." She stared at him but didn't say anything. Tears brimming then falling again from her lashes.

"Should I see myself out?"

"I think that would be best."


	6. Kittens Got Claws

There was no one home at Samuel Briggs' house when Dean arrived there 15 minutes after having left Molly Briggs at her kitchen table with her tears. He suspected she might have given her sister the heads up that he was on his way and he supposed he could forgive her for it. He was used to pushback and people looking at him cross-eyed when he asked the questions he really needed answered. There was just no good way to ask: "I'm sorry, but did your husband's eyes go black before he died?" or "Tell me, did a monster do this to you?" as they sit reeling from loss and wondering who the hell he thought he was asking questions like that.

Dean made his way begrudgingly back to the Impala and tried to decide what to do with 6:30 on the clock and a spirit in Oriskany beckoning. 6:30pm was too late to head back to town in time to actually get anything done and way too early to put Utica in his back window especially when there was such fun to be had. Sam Briggs lived right downtown and the city was just starting to come alive and people were streaming out of buildings to scramble like mad over each in a great exodus. Head over heels they tumbled through the city streets like waves of water and the itch to join them was just too tempting to not scratch. He parked his baby somewhere safe and went looking for trouble.

The cash from his road trip was burning a hole in his pocket and that didn't often happen. Usually any money he'd manage to scrounge up had to be shared or guarded then rationed to get him though till the next dive bar. With money in his pocket and a whole thriving metropolis darting out in every direction beneath his feet, he let the city take him away until his very heart beat in time with the sounds of the trucks on the roads as they shifted their loads running over potholes as big as small ponds. He stuck his elbows out and rode the waves with his feet 5 inches off the ground and emerged every so often to wonder at something interesting on the street. He picked a restaurant he normally wouldn't ever choose and ate a meal he normally wouldn't ever eat and sat at a table for one, facing the street with his back to the restaurant as if giving fate the finger. Let a monster try something here, he bet the owner was packing anyway.

When he was finished he stood under the light of a street corner and tried to decide what to do with himself next. He had to be careful, cities like these had a way of swallowing people like him whole then spitting them back out on the other side if they just didn't fit. The meeting with Molly Briggs had been exhausting and he needed something to distract him for a while, to give his brain something else to do besides worry about the hunt or think about Sam.

The decision was made for him as he stopped in front of an old building with loud blinking lights and a marquee that promised only the highest quality of entertainment inside and he couldn't help but go in. For two and a half blissful hours he lost himself under the cover of a darkened theater watching a movie he would never admit to seeing. Lucky for him, it ended up being just what he needed and he left the theater two hours later with a little popcorn left in his bag and a song from the movie playing over and over in his head. It was infectious and impossible not to smile around. If Sam had been there to see him he'd probably be laughing his ass off but Dean had some really great memories of playing with the multicolored legos their dad kept in a gallon sized plastic bag in the trunk of the impala. The legos and the army men they'd played with as kids were staples of his childhood and in the end he was happy with his decision to see the Lego movie and he lingered beneath the blinking lights of the marquee, unwilling to let the lightness the movie had given him go.

Sighing when the popcorn was gone and there was nothing left to anchor him in place, Dean threw the greasy popcorn bag into a trashcan and wiped butter off his hands onto his suit pants as he made his way back to the Impala. The streets were pretty empty now and a brisk north wind curled around his ankles then moved up to knock around his knees and push him faster down the sidewalk. The temperature had fallen at least 20 degrees since the sun had gone down and Dean briefly mourned the loss of it. Winter was again howling her victory in the tunnels the streets made between the buildings and taking pleasure in pushing the tiny little humans up and down those streets with her many licking fingers. Shivering and using the strong wind at his back for leverage he somehow made it to the Impala without blowing away and began the trek back out to Oriskany and his shitty, overpriced motel room. When he finally got there and unlocked his door, he found the promised files from the sheriff in a box on the table along with a note from his landlord.

_Sorry for coming into your room Agent, but I figured you wouldn't want these waiting for you on the stoop outside and Deputy Hayes wouldn't wait for you no more._

_Hope you don't mind,_   
_Irving_

So the secret was out. Irving knew he was a fed. Dean wondered what that might mean for him now that Irving knew he wasn't some two bit reporter but an employee of a government agency that could very easily shut his motel down if it tried hard enough. Dean chuckled at the thought of a sobbing Irving, clutching at his room keys in their box behind the counter and wondered why he and Sam hadn't used that angle before. Scaring locals might have scored them some better accommodations on some of their hunts... Then again, maybe not. This hunt really wasn't falling within the parameters of a 'normal hunt' per se. Police departments usually fought their involvement all the way, locals were usually wary of having anything to do with them and aside from getting them access to case files and crime scenes, playing the FBI wasn't really all that glamorous. For some reason, it was just really paying off for him this time around.

Dean striped off his suit and showered for good measure before settling in to bed with the box of files. Most of it he'd already gone through, but he found Late Night with Jimmy Fallon (he was so happy the guy had taken over for Leno, though he'd miss ol' big chin) and started at the beginning again for good measure.

He was 100% sure they were dealing with a spirit. Now came the hard part when he tried to find out who's spirit it was, why they were killing people, what might have stirred it up, where the body of said spirit was buried and how to salt and burn the bones before the spirit realized he was on to it and squeezed his insides out through his noise. Tomorrow morning he would take a trip to the public library to see what they had then maybe head back to Utica if the Oriskany library was too small to have anything useful. With a Revolutionary War memorial just down the street the research on this one was going to be epic and that small voice inside his head reminded him again of how much easier things would be if Sam was there to help.

"But he isn't here, is he," he said out loud to the empty room, "so lay off."

What Dean needed to do was clear his thoughts and look at the big picture so he set out the photographs of the crime scene and emptied his mind of all things Sam.

All the evidence he had pointed to a vengeful spirit. There was no indication that a creature had done it, unless there was a thing running around town that got its rocks off by squeezing men to death then leaving the bodies and all the parts for the cops to find... Oh, and could somehow slam shut solid oak doors with its mind. If it really was some kind of hereunto undiscovered monster, he figured there'd be some trace of it on the bodies or at the crime scene at least. But there was nothing. No fingerprints, no fibers or hairs except those belonging to the victims and few other sources easily explained away.

Something had lured those men from their beds, gotten them all the way from Utica to Oriskany then murdered them where they stood. All that took power and if Dean had learned anything from what had happened to Bobby over Dick Roman when he'd gotten so sick with the need for revenge he nearly killed Sam, it was that a vengeful spirit was capable of just about anything. The longer a vengeful spirit hung around on earth, the crazier and more out of control it could get and Dean figured this spirit had to have been around for a pretty damn long time to have the juice to ice the men the way it did. And that brought up another point. If the spirit had been around for so long why had it chosen now to pitch a bitch fit and start killing people? There should have been countless unexplained murders or attacks in the building over the years especially since the B&B operated year round and readily offered a steady stream of possible victims. He couldn't imagine that the this powerful spirit had just decided one day that today was the day it would go ape shit and start murdering folk.

Vengeful spirits were usually created when some wrong had befallen a poor soul who couldn't let go and move on after death but from what Doris at the diner had told him, Oriskany was a pretty quiet place and there hadn't been any sudden or violent deaths in the area prior to the Briggs' men being murdered so that ruled out a recent death triggering the activity. Still, small towns had ways to cover up sins and he made a mental note to check through missing person's reports from the area tomorrow and do some digging into the surrounding towns to see if anything had happened nearby

There was also the matter of where the murder's had occurred. The basement at the B&B was empty and had nothing in it except construction equipment. It was made of solid stone as far as he could tell and had been built in the 1700s, almost 250 years ago and right around the time of a Revolutionary War battle and that had him leaning more in the direction of the embittered solider idea. But the embittered solider idea lead him right back into his earlier question of: why now? Sure, there was constriction going on and Dean had heard of hauntings gone bad after people started renovating houses, but if the ghost had been there since the 1700s why didn't it attack when the building was renovated by Doris' friend Mable in the 60s? He added that to the ever growing research list in his head then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to chase away the first tendrils of a headache. Had the Briggs' boys gotten involved in something they shouldn't have? Was Oriskany hiding secrets? Were Doris and the sheriff and everyone else he'd met in this godforsaken town involved in some massive cover-up? There were so many variables and so many possibilities for what could have started all this trouble that his brain was beginning to rebel against him and he pushed aside the photographs in his frustration. If Sam... no, he didn't need Sam to help him through this hunt. He'd take care of things himself.

Dean dry swallowed a few aspirin and then turned out the lamp on the table beside him and tried to lose himself in the late night program. The tv's flickering light filled the room and with thoughts of Sam and the hunt still swirling in his brain, Dean dropped off into sleep.

.

.

.

It happened instantly and with no warning. One moment his eyelids were drooping and the next he was falling hard against cold, unyielding stone.

"HOLY SHIT!" the curse was pulled involuntarily from his lips and he lay on the flat of his back panting up into pure unrelenting darkness.

Instinct took over him instantly and he sprang to his feet in a crouch but the blackness surrounding him was so complete that he misjudged the distance and fell back onto the floor in a tangle of limbs. Heart beating wildly in his chest he rolled onto his hands and knees and tried again to get to his feet. He managed it clumsily but finally he was upright and he tried to make sense of the dark. Never ending blackness came at him from every direction and he spun around in circles trying to find a source of light then stumbled a bit, disoriented by his inability to see. Putting a grasping hand to his face he clawed at his brows expecting to find something covering his eyes but found only flesh as his nails raked down his face. The darkness was so complete that his brain whirled madly on, trying to understand where he was and how he had gotten there and all he could think to do was call out.

"Hello?" His voice quavered riotously in confusion and fear and he choked on the word then tried again. "HELLO?"

He strained his ears for an answer and fought against unbridled panic as it crawled its way up his skin in prickling iciness that broke his flesh out into goose bumps. He wrapped his arms around his body, willing the awful feeling away as his words echoed back at him in the darkness as wavering and afraid as when he'd sent them out. It was the only answer to his call.

"Deputy Hayes? Hayes if this is you trying to get back at me for the ticket thing I'm gonna friggin' kick your ass. Turn on the lights man!" Panic colored his words manic and he listened out into the darkness waiting in breath-stealing anticipation for this all to be some mind of monstrous joke.

"Can anyone hear me?" He tried again and tried to hide the helplessness in his voice.

Closing ineffectual eyes he willed his trembling limbs and racing heart to calm, repeating a mantra inside his head that everything would be alright, that he was fine and this would all be over soon. He fell back on his training then, using it to push down the panic and find the place in his brain where survival reigned and where he could fight against the come-hither pull of losing his mind.

He checked each limb in turn taking comfort in the fact that he was whole and unmarred. His other senses were working still and he focused his thoughts on what was around him. It was cold, bitterly so and the realization started his body shivering, cold creeping up from the souls of his feet to wrap around his middle and pull tremors from him. He was still in the clothes he'd worn to bed, nothing more to protect him from the cold than a pair of old socks and his boxers. If he was stuck here then he was screwed and would most likely be found days later, half naked and frozen solid with his hands out in front of him and a terrified look on his face. He could imagine Sam peering into the dark at him with a flashlight, shaking his head and saying to a crowd of curious onlookers:

"What a way to die."

No, this wasn't going to work if he lost it now. He had to focus and to fight because Dean Winchester wasn't going out like this. He stilled as best he could around racking shivers that knocked his organs around in his chest and sniffed at the air.

Musty.

Old.

Familiar.

"Oh shit," he sent the words out into the blackness on a puff of surprised breath. He knew where he was and reached out into the dark for some sign that would make it not be true, but his foot came down hard on the broken bits from the lights of his EMF meter and there was just no denying it anymore.

"OH SHIT" he said again, realization sending his voice high in renewed panic. He pushed forward into the dark expecting his hands to meet resistance like the blackness was some kind of living breathing thing that had trapped him inside of itself and would watch with amusement as he bumped back and forth inside its soft innards for eternity.

Shuddering at the thought he launched himself further into the void, trying to figure out which way he needed to go, but it was proving impossible to focus on much more than his heart still doing its best to pound its way out through his chest. Out of the blackness an object reached out to stop his forward motion and he stumbled into a sawhorse which bent him at the middle and he clung to it like some sort of beacon in the emptiness while he tried to calm his breathing. He was fighting back with all his might against the thought of what might be lurking in the dark alongside him. He hadn't yet felt the tingling sensation that usually hinted to him he was being watched so he counseled his mind to relax and to think. Solid and sure under his hands he stood back up to full height with palms never leaving the sawhorse and tried to recall its place in the basement when he'd been there last. He searched the pictures in his mind, more vivid than he could have ever thought possible as his brain overcompensated for his lack of sight. The sawhorse was near the table saw which was along the wall leading to the stairs that would take him up and out to find the light again. He took his final steps at a run and his hands found solid wall and he sat laughing his relief into the stone, but it was short lived.

A whisper of air slid past the skin of his calves and shut him up with a start as the temperature started to drop. The all-encompassing slimy feeling of being watched settled in around his shoulders to wrap itself around his spine like a snake and his brain searched for a way to escape it.

"Cas?" He called out into the nothingness, "I know we haven't talked lately, but I could really use your help right now, dude." He hated the way his voice cracked with fear, but he knew how this ended and if the angel ignored his prayers, he was a dead man. He listened intently for the sound of fluttering wings. He listened even as the cold around him intensified and it slowly dawned on him that there was no one coming to help him. He was on his own and he was going to have to help himself if he wanted to avoid the same fate that had befallen David and Sammy Briggs.

Sammy.

His brother's name swam through his thoughts and he thought it apt that he would die alone and unavenged by a brother who didn't care if he lived or died anymore. This is what Sam would have wanted… and with that thought Dean felt the utter loneliness of his life descend around him and he fought against the urge to lay down his sword and accept his fate.

"Oh, hell no!" He spoke out loud, rallying his anger and indignation and putting them together in the pit of his stomach to gnash and fight with each other, using their heat to spur him on and clear his mind. He was defenseless and unarmed, but he knew where he was and who he was and fuck it if he wasn't going to get out of this alive.

Following along the wall with his hands he pushed aside his fear and anxiety over the ever rising oppressiveness growing around him in the room and made his way to where he knew the basement stairs would be. He found them in the dark and bounded up the stone as fast as his legs would carry him. This was going to work. He was going to get out of this and then throw himself into tracking this son-of-a-bitch down and sending it back to oblivion. The righteous anger felt good and he used it to propel himself forward the last few steps, forgetting completely about the door to the stairs. His hands hit it first and the concussive force stopped him mid stride as he scrambled to keep his footing on the stairs.

"No," he panted, pushing against the door and feeling no give whatsoever. "No no no no NO!"

This was not happening.

The door was immovable. It sat with blatant obstinance and refused to even budge an inch and before he realized what he was doing, he was pounding against it with all his might, breaking the skin of his hand where his fist met the wood. A sound from behind carried over his noise and the low tones of a crying woman filtered up into the space around him from down the stairs, stopping him mid pound and freezing his blood. He would have given anything in that moment be able to see, but there was still nothing but blackness around him as he felt two arms wrap around his chest and yank him off his feet as they dragged him back down into the basement.

His first instinct was to fight but the unknown force was constricting his chest and he had no choice but to focus everything on pulling air into his lungs down a quickly shrinking airway. When his air cut off completely he started clawing at the force holding him, nails catching flesh when they met no resistance but his own skin. As if in retaliation for his efforts to get away the vice on his chest clamped down even harder and the pressure built in his head. He tried maneuvering himself out of the spirits grasp, but it held firm and he felt the unrelenting feeling of helplessness that drowning brings descend down on him. It was the grasping, red tinged realization that he was going to die and that no matter how hard he fought against it his lungs would not fill and his heart would go silent. Sure that if he were able to see his vision would be darkening, he put all his remaining strength into trying to get away one last time and just as he felt unconsciousness coming for him, he was thrown to the floor on the flat of his back and the pressure released from his ribs.

Hauling in the largest breath possible, the air passed into his lungs with a mighty wheeze that had him chocking and sputtering to keep the blessed oxygen coming. Not knowing what else to do he curled into the fetal position in a desperate attempt to protect himself from further harm and coughed his lungs up out onto the floor. He wanted to pass out, could feel it calling to him like a working girl curling her red tipped fingernail at him from across a street, beckoning him to the oblivion only she could provide, but he knew he had to fight. He could taste blood on his tongue and that realization had him sitting up bolt upright and scrambling away in a crab crawl across the floor.

He made it maybe 20 yards and it was enough to set him thinking that maybe he was getting out of this after all but that didn't last long and an icy hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled him bodily back. The skin of his legs scraped and tore on the stone floor beneath him. He tried to cry out, even flipped himself around to try and use the floor to pull himself back away, but the grip was relentless and his nails dug ineffectually at the stone, breaking away from their beds in agonizing pops of pain. Momentary weightlessness stole his breath away again as he was flung a few feet in the air to land flat on his back on the stone again, the unimaginable pressure returning to his chest.

It was over. He could feel it. The strength to fight was leaving him even thought his mind tried to keep going. He felt his bones bowing, heard the unmistakable crack as they came apart in his chest and pain exploded in white light behind his eyes. The unforgiving pressure was grinding him into the very earth until something shifted beneath him and the last thing his mind conjured was a vision of Sam and the look on his face the night he'd truly died.


	7. For Whom the Bell Tolls

Doris Petersen had never had children of her own. She'd never married either and while she'd had lovers over the years, none of those debacles had ever produced a child. Her kids were the countless masses that passed every year through the Utica school system until the day they'd shut her school down and asked her politely to take early retirement. It had been heartbreaking watching the school close after 35 years of teaching there and she had briefly toyed with the idea of just moving to a new district and starting over, but something about the countryside called to her and she used her life savings to buy a little out of the way diner in a small out of the way town to keep herself from going crazy in her forced retirement. She hired the autistic older brother of a friend with a love of all things culinary and with him had made a good living.

At first she'd missed her kids terribly, but Oriskany had opened its arms and embraced her, especially after she agreed to substitute teach part time at the local elementary school. It was the perfect retirement and Doris had carved out a happy life in a town she loved. The diner flourished, there was enough out of town traffic and well to do locals that she stayed in business even through the hard times and over the years she'd made a sort of game out of trying to befriend every new face that passed through town and stopped into the diner for a bite to eat and a respite from the road.

Of course that changed when the reporters came. The horrible murders had garnered the attention of the media even though Doris was sure Sheriff Zerbak, Robert, had done everything in his power to keep things quiet. They descended on the town in a swarm and managed to upset the tender balance Oriskany maintained with its bigger neighbors to the south. The reporters pushed their way into homes and businesses trying to find sensational stories where none existed and they were crass and unapologetic about it. Doris had even heard a whispered rumor amongst the news crews about the town being controlled by the mob. The more well-off citizens of Oriskany were used to being handled with kid gloves. Most were old money and self-entitled and the reporters disrupted their carefully manicured lives with unforgiving insistence, but the worst was when the reporters singled out the peaceful, hard working folk who were just trying to scrape out a living and had landed in Oriskany looking for a fresh start.

It took a few days but eventually it became apparent that there was nothing interesting in Oriskany beyond the battlefield outside of town and the newspaper men and news vans began to leave. Sammy Briggs had died almost a week ago now and it looked like whatever murder spree had gone on was finally finished. At least that was what Doris prayed for every morning when she said her Rosary. There were still no leads apparently, but there were also no more bodies.

Doris pulled a sack of potatoes from the floor beside her and started in on her kitchen prep. This was the kind of work she enjoyed the most in her retirement and if she couldn't be outside with her hands in the dirt tending her garden, then the next best place to be was in her kitchen in the early morning hours with birdsong from the feeder in the window and knee deep in a pile of vegetables. It was mindless work, but work that was good for the soul for it left time to be quiet and to contemplate. And contemplation was something Doris was good at. All good Catholic's were, she figured.

As she ran the peeler over the gray skin of the potatoes, her thoughts strayed to the young man that had come into her diner the morning before. Those damn stragglers had been making a mess of her tables and she'd thought he was just another one of them coming late to the party, but then he'd looked at her with those lost eyes and asked for a cup of coffee with such politeness, she'd taken an instant shine to him. Anyone bothering with manners these days was good people in her book. She'd assumed he was a reporter at first but then he'd said something about being there to help and even though he didn't offer any explanation beyond that, she had believed him. Then he turned on the charm and lordy, did that young man know his way around a smile and didn't she just melt right under it. She opened up to him like a silly girl half her age.

It was the eyes, she figured, throwing a finished potato into the sink and grabbing another. Her hands were slippery now and she had to concentrate not to let the potato slip from her grip and the sharp edges of the peeler catch her skin. There was something limitless about the stare he threw and the depth of it had captivated her from the moment she locked eyes with him. Had she been a younger woman, she most certainly would have chased after him. He was handsome, ruggedly so, in that ageless Sean Connery kind of way that would probably stay with him until the day he died. It was the kind of face that drove women mad and men to jealousy. She probably would have answered just about any question that young man would have asked her and almost had and by the end of it all she was convinced he was either a con man or a cop. Either or, he was good at his job.

Doris let her thoughts meander about and she imagined what kind of life the young man lead and where he was this morning. Irving had been in yesterday and mentioned a young man was renting one of his hotel rooms and that Deputy Andy had given him a run for his money in the parking lot that morning. Andy had thrown a couple of reporters off more than one front porch over the last few weeks and had just about had enough of the lot of them and had taken out his frustrations on the kid everyone in town thought was a reporter, but apparently wasn't. Then later in the day she'd seen him in the cruiser with Sheriff Robert headed towards the Bed & Breakfast but spent the day visiting a friend in a neighboring town and missed out on any more gossip going around town about him. So engrossed she was in her work and wonderings about the mysterious young man that she almost missed the pounding at her front door and the tinkling of the bell as it was moved by the force of the blows from outside.

Doris dried her hands on a towel and headed cautiously out into the dining area, taking her apron off and setting it on the counter right where she kept the old pistol of her father's locked away. A man she'd never seen before, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt with an orange vest over top, was frantically beckoning to her and pointing at something on the wall behind her. She craned her neck but saw nothing but her old Coke memorabilia. She approached cautiously, ready to run back to the counter for the gun if the guy was up to no good. When she got close enough, she could finally make out what he was yelling at her through the glass.

"Lady, please, you gotta call 9-1-1, there's been another murder!" Doris' hand went to the crucifix at her throat and the other grabbed the wall for support. It couldn't be true! They were supposed to be over and done with this now!

"Please! Lady, I need you to call the police! My phone is dead and the landline is out at Old Road. No one will answer their doors! Please, you've got to help me!" Convinced now it wasn't a cruel joke or some dumb attempt at a robbery, Doris rushed to the phone on the wall beside the door to the kitchen and dialed 9-1-1 with shaky fingers. She got a dispatcher on the 2nd ring and quickly gave what little details she had to the girl on the other line. When they hung up, Doris grabbed her winter coat and unlocked her front door and went back out into the early morning chill, glad that she'd worn her extra thick white tights under her waitress uniform.

"I called 9-1-1." She said firmly. "Take me to them."

The terrified man took off down the sidewalk with more speed than Doris thought she could match, but she managed to keep up well enough until they skidded to a stop in front of the Bed and Breakfast. Doris had never been a big fan of the place, something about it had always set her teeth on edge, but she had a little EMS training and owed whoever was in there a look to at least make sure they were dead, dead. So, she took off towards the building with reckless abandon and barreled down into the basement and into the dark and tried not to scream when she saw. The quiet, respectful, deep eyed boy from the diner the morning before lay sprawled out on the floor in the middle of the room under the harsh light of a few naked bulbs lining the basement.

"Oh, honey, no!" She knelt beside him to check his pulse, sure she would find nothing beneath her fingers for his chest carried all the signs of blunt force trauma and showed no indication that it rose or fell with life. She noticed that a crack had formed in the floor beneath him, the force of whatever had crushed him so great that it had cracked the very stone beneath him and she prayed hard and fast that God would spare the young man even though he'd been lying there for who knew how long in the cold.

Finding no pulse at his neck, Doris tried to steady her hand and searched for the carotid again, just to make sure and was about to pull her fingertips away from his cold skin when she felt a slight flutter. Pushing down harder a fast yet weak, barely there throb pushed back against her touch.

"Oh, thank you Jesus!" She exclaimed before tiling the boys head back and starting CPR. She didn't dare give him chest compressions. The damage to his chest was too severe and there was too much risk of her driving fractured bone into vital organs so she had to settle on inflating and re-inflating his lungs. There was a rivulet of blood running from the side of his mouth to the ground and she wiped it away as best she could, but she could still taste blood on her lips as she covered his mouth with her own. Not having anything to use as a barrier between them, she ignored the danger, pinched his nose then set up a rhythm and didn't stop until the ambulance arrived and a hand on her shoulder pulled her away.

She recognized one of the first responders, Cherrie was her name, and Doris watched her and her partner work with grim determination.

"Dori, do you know this man?" Cherrie asked over her shoulder.

"He was in town about the murders. His name is Dean. That's all I know." She was starting to come off the adrenaline high now and her hands shook and her voice broke, but she managed to get the words out.

The paramedics got right to work assessing Dean and put a tube down his throat to help him breathe then attached their equipment to check his heart, the pads covering a strange tattoo and partially obscuring the long thin bruises blossoming on his chest. A generic female voice announced the need for a shock and everyone stood back in silence to watch as Dean's body gave a pathetic flail then stilled. Again the female voice came from the speakers to announce the need for another and Doris made the sign of the cross and prayed again for Heavenly intercession. When her prayers were answered and the monitor pronounced him out of danger for the moment, Doris and every other person in the room let out a breath of relief. Having gotten Dean fairly stabilized, Doris watched the paramedics get him ready for the backboard and wished she could help. She'd never been particularly good at standing around doing nothing and her hands yearned to work, to sooth his pale brow and coax those endless eyes open just one more time. Just as they maneuvered the backboard under Dean, carefully rolling him while supporting the bones of his chest, Sherriff Zerbak appeared at her elbow.

"Holy... Dori, what happened!?" He asked, taking her shaking hands in his as she started to tear up. Without the adrenaline to keep her going, she was headed for a hard crash as her body caught up with her emotions.

"Oh, Robert, it was awful. One of the construction workers found him but he's alive!"

"Who is it?" The sheriff asked, craning his neck to see over the paramedics. It was pretty clear when he realized who it was.

"Oh god!" The sheriff looked visibly shaken and suddenly Doris was holding his hands just as much as he was holding hers. "Is that Agent Dowle?"

"I don't know anything about 'Agent'," Doris answered, "But his name is Dean."

"Yeah, he's from the FBI. He was in town to investigate the murders. This is going to be a nightmare!" The paramedics had Dean and the equipment he needed strapped securely to the backboard by now and a few of the sheriff's deputies helped them maneuver Dean up the basement stairs on it, out onto their stretcher and then finally into the back of their rig. Unwilling to let her new friend make the journey alone, she jumped into the back before Cherrie could close the double doors and while the young girl looked conflicted for a moment, she closed the doors and made no argument. The other paramedic Doris had never officially met but knew the girls in town called him Chaz, and she tried her best to stay out of his way as the rig sped off into the morning with lights flashing and siren wailing, its sound mournful as if it were lamenting its broken cargo.

Their ride to the hospital and subsequent arrival at the ER was exactly what she was expecting and it took everything in Doris to stay calm and act rationally. She wasn't Dean's family but he needed someone on his side so she fought when they tried to push her out and answered any questions she could. Unfortunately they were things like 'is he allergic to any medications' and 'do you know what caused the chest trauma." Some advocate she was turning out to be. Eventually she found herself in the surgery waiting room with a clear plastic bag of Dean's personal items clutched in her fists and with no real memory of how she'd gotten there. She stood staring at the TV behind the reception desk, not really paying attention when Sheriff Robert took the seat beside her.

"How's he doing, Dori?" He asked, touching her arm when she didn't respond. She looked down to his hand and he removed it.

"They took him in for emergency surgery. There were some bone fragments near his heart they were worried about."

"So he's still alive?"

"Yes."

"Good." They sat in silence for a few moments, but Doris knew Robert had more questions for her and she sighed.

"You might as well just ask already."

"I know you're shaken up. I can come back later." He said with real concern coloring his voice.

"No, it's fine. Let's just get this over with."

"Alright, then. Can you take me through what happened?" Doris organized her thoughts and decided to start from the beginning and took Robert through their first meeting and all the way up to this morning when the construction worker had pounded on her door.

"He said he'd dropped his phone or something and needed me to call 9-1-1. I made the call from the diner then had him take me over to the B&B. I went down in the basement and found him lying on the floor in the middle of the room. His chest was purple and looked like it had been crushed so I did rescue breathing and waited for the paramedics. You know the rest." She finished her story and suddenly felt all of her 71 years settle in around her. Sometimes the world just made her so tired.

"If it's any consolation, Dori, Cherrie told me that you probably helped save that kid's life."

"Not much good that will do if he dies in surgery." She said quietly, too tired to fight back sorrow any longer.

"Did Agent Dowle say anything to you about a partner?"

"No partner, just a brother back in Kansas."

"Kansas!?" Apparently that was news to Robert.

"I'm pretty sure that's what he said." Doris answered, shifting her weight in the chair and accidently dropping the bag with Dean's things on the floor between her feet.

"Are those his personal effects?"

"Yeah, they just kind of shoved them in my hands when they took him away to surgery." She said, picking the bag back up and setting it in her lap.

"May I?" Robert asked. Doris nodded.

There was nothing much inside of it except for the clothes Dean had been wearing (which wasn't much) and a plain silver ring. The two looked down at the pathetic pile, all the clues they had into the mysterious young man in surgery.

"Andy is running over to Irving's motel to check for a cell phone and anything else that might help us track down the Agent's family. He'll bring over whatever he finds. The New York field office wasn't open yet, but I put a call into them."

"Don't know if that will do much good if Dean was from Kansas, Robert." Doris mused, running a fingertip over the surface of the silver ring.

"It's a start." They sat in companionable silence for an hour or so, either one of them getting up at random intervals to inquire at the desk if there was any new news. There never was and they'd return to their seats to shrug their shoulders and try to focus on the terrible daytime TV programming. It was a welcome respite when Andy exited the elevator at the far end of the room and walked over balancing a cardboard box on his unholstered hip.

"Hey Uncle Rob, here's that stuff you wanted." Doris still couldn't get over how much Andy Hayes had grown up in the last few years. She could remember a time not so long ago when he'd been nothing but a pimply faced, lanky sort of fellow with a chip on his shoulder who skulked around town until someone had the bright idea to suggest to him that he follow in his uncles footsteps. Two short years and a lot of work later (most of it done by his instructors at the police academy) and Andy had turned into a fine young man who only occasionally showed his true colors. It was in little things like always stopping the football team stars for traffic violations or hyping up charges when his manhood was tested. She liked him but she didn't and supposed she never would settle on any one way of thinking of him.

The sheriff dug around in the box and pulled out Dean's cellphone and wallet. Inside was an driver's license from Kansas that had his name as Dean Winchester and a look passed between the sheriff and his deputy that Doris didn't miss.

"Oh you two, always looking for trouble when there isn't any. He's an FBI Agent for goodness sake, it's probably from an undercover case." She snatched the cellphone out of Robert's hand and wagged her finger at him. "Maybe you better let me handle this."

When Robert didn't argue and went back to rummaging in the box, Doris flipped open the phone and started to scroll through Dean's contacts. He didn't have any new text messages or voicemails and only one missed call from two days ago. Seeing the caller was listed only as Sam, she tried that number first. After two rings an irritated voice came over the line.

"Don't tell me, you need me to come and bail you out?"

"I'm sorry, is this Sam?" Doris asked a little timidly. The voice on the other end of the line was silent for a moment as if trying to decide whether to hang up or answer.

"Yeah, I'm Sam. Where's Dean?"

"Are you his brother?" She asked, remembering her conversation with Dean yesterday morning.

"Is he in some kind of trouble?" Sam, whoever he was, was dodging the question so she tried a different approach.

"Look, I don't know if you're his brother or his partner at the FBI, but you gotta get your ass out to Oriskany, New York. Dean's been hurt."

"What!? What the hell happened?" This time there was no mistaking the emotion in Sam's voice and Doris was sure now that she wasn't talking to a partner but a brother. Not really sure what Sam might already know about what Dean had been up to, she decided to err on the side of caution and dump it all out on him quick.

"Were at St. Elizabeth Medical Center in Utica. Your brother's been here investigating a couple of murders in our town and whoever's responsible attacked him last night. He's in emergency surgery, they said he had chest trauma and that there were some bone fragments they had to go in and get. They took him back about 3 hours ago and that's all they'd tell me since I'm not family." The voice on the other end was silent for a long while and Doris was about to say something when he spoke again.

"Look, I can get back to Chicago and catch a flight that gets me into Syracuse in about 3 hours then it looks like Utica is another hour out from there, that would put me there around 4pm or so. Can you stay with him 'till I get there?"

"Of course I can."

"I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"It's Doris, dear."

"And Doris, how do you know my brother?" He was a little short with that but Doris could tell it was more from worry than real anger and she figured it was all 'get back what you put in' with both boys so she laid it out honest.

"He came into my diner the other morning and we got to talking." She could almost hear a chuckle on the other end of the line.

"And he told you he was with the FBI?"

"Well, no... At first I thought he was a reporter but then he said he was just in town to help. It was our Sheriff that he told he was FBI." There little game was almost amusing. Doris could sense that there was definitely something fishy going on with Dean and Sam and that the other brother was trying to get a feel for what she knew. Any other day it might put her on the defensive but she was too worried about Dean at the moment to give a damn just yet. Dean needed his brother and that wasn't going to happen with some batty old lady pestering him with questions and scaring him off.

"I'm going to have to do some pretty illegal driving here to get to the airport on time so I'm going to let you go Doris. You'll stay with him?"

"I won't leave his side until you get here. And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there anything the doctors should know about your brother? Allergies or anything?"

"No, but if they have to put him on a ventilator because of the chest trauma, he'll fight it. Make sure they keep him sedated, he's stronger than he looks."

"I don't think they'll take him off that stuff for a while. It was pretty bad."

"You were there with him?" The degree to which Sam's voice softened had Doris' heart breaking and the tears threatened again. She wanted to spare him the imagery, but that was pointless. He would see for himself soon enough.

"I was, honey. I didn't see what happened but I was with him soon after. Something crushed his chest pretty bad and he wasn't breathing when we found him. They had to shock his heart a couple times but he came back and they were able to stabilize him for surgery. He's a fighter, he'll pull through." She hated platitudes and she didn't even know if what she'd said was true, but from what little time she'd spent with Dean she figured it was a safe bet. Sam didn't move to disagree.

"I won't be able to have my phone on while we're up in the air, but will you call and leave me a message if anything changes or there's any new news?"

"You betchyour ass!" She said proudly and it set them both to laughing a little as a bit of the tension broke away.

"Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Alright, bye Sam."

"Bye. And thanks again."

"You're welcome," the connection on the line went dead and Doris flipped the phone closed. Pressing the plastic to her lips, she walked back over to where the Sheriff and Andy were still talking and tried to decide what she'd tell them.

"Who'd you talk to for so long, Dori?" Robert asked, taking the phone from her and putting it back in the box.

"I got a hold of Dean's partner, Sam." She lied... well, kinda.

"Is he on his way?" Robert asked.

"Yeah, he was going to catch a flight out of Chicago and be here around 4."

"Chicago?" Andy piped in, "I thought these guys were from Kansas."

Doris shrugged her shoulders. "Beat's me."

"Agent Dowle did tell me that his partner was finishing up another case. I thought he said it was somewhere down state, but I musta heard wrong." Robert offered.

"Robert, did they find anything at the crime scene?" Doris asked to change the subject and get his thoughts on other things. She wasn't sure quite when it had happened, but she was now determined to protect Dean and his brother. Doris was afraid for a moment that Robert would cut her off with that question. He really wasn't supposed to be sharing any information with her about the murders but the two men standing in front of her were the closest thing she had to family and Robert knew her well enough to know that if she wanted information out of him, she knew just how to get it.

"No!" He answered a little more forcefully than he must have meant to, because he scrubbed a hand across his eyes and started again. "It's the other crime scenes all over again. No evidence and no clue as to who keeps doing this to people! At least this time we didn't have blood and guts splattered everywhere... Sorry Doris."

"Don't you worry about me. I can handle it."

"Maybe the guy will wake up and be able to give us a description, Uncle Rob," Andy offered with a strange semi smile. Doris bet he was remembering his meeting with Dean in the parking lot yesterday morning.

"Have you guys at least locked that Bed & Breakfast down?" The idea of it all happening again to someone else was making her nauseous.

"Tighter than a jar of Mable's hot peppers," Robert joked, pulling a smile from her.

"Yeah, don't worry Dori," Andy put in with a hand on her shoulder, "We've got it taken care of."

Robert decided Doris needed some coffee and excused himself to go in search of some down the long mazelike hallways of the hospital. Rather than sit with her, Andy fled with the excuse of 'police business to take care of' and she found herself alone again with nothing but Dean's personal effects. She grabbed the box Andy had brought and took it over to a far corner of the waiting room where a few dusty couches were crowded around a little coffee table. The corner was the farthest away from the TV so the least used and Doris commandeered the little table to spread out Dean's belongings. Andy must have inadvertently included some of the police files in with Dean's things and she found herself staring at the crime scene photos from the previous two murders.

Doris considered herself one tough broad, her age and experience bought her use of that word, but the shock of seeing the photographs set her stomach churning and the room spinning. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of the horrible images and tried to think like a cop might. You had to disassociate yourself from what you were seeing and once you'd achieved that, you could find things in the mess you normally never would. Doris dug down deep and tried to find the will to somehow see past the technicolor horror she held in her hands. After a few tense seconds, she tried her luck.

It was still a shock and her heart did its best to jump into her throat, but she forced herself to take deep breaths and get past it. One photo than the next passed through her hands and she gradually became accustomed to the gore until finely she was able to make out more details than before. She noted the long thin bruises around the torsos, just like Dean had, and how they almost looked like ropes had been tied around their chests and they'd been tightened until the body had nothing left to do but pop. See, she really was getting the hang of this because 10 minutes ago she'd have thrown up her lunch with that thought. Next she read through the reports written in Roberts chicken scratch. The man had forever been opposed to progress and flat out refused to get a computer so she was left to squint at his writing and try to make out what it said.

Nothing was what it said because that's what it was about: nothing. No leads. No suspects. No murder weapon. She'd seen enough crime dramas to know that that didn't bode well for her little town and her heart ached for Oriskany. She knew every single living soul in that town and the thought of losing any one of them made her want to weep. But she hadn't, had she? Not a single one of the victims had been from Oriskany. They'd been outsiders, travelers, never in one place for very long and Doris wondered if that meant anything but she was no cop, even if she tried to pretend she was by going through the files. Sighing, she gathered up the papers she'd strewn about in no particular order and tucked them back into the box. Dean's wallet and cell phone were still in there and Doris slipped the leather into his clear plastic personals bag and his phone she put in her pocket on vibrate so that she'd be sure to feel it if Sam called. She'd just put the box back together when the automatic doors of the surgery wing opened and a harried looking doctor started talking to the nurse behind the reception desk. When Doris saw the nurse point in her direction, she was instantly on her feet and sprinting over to the doctor.

"Are you the family of Dean Dowle?" the doc asked. He looked ridiculous with his mask hanging off his face by his ears.

"No, they're on the way. I can reach 'em by phone though." Doris held her breath as the doctor looked unsure for a moment. She technically had no right to demand information about Dean and the Doc had every right to deny her, but she prayed for a little compassion and it was granted.

"Alright, he made it through my part of the surgery okay and they're finishing up and will get him into recovery in about an hour. What have you been told so far? The doctor asked, indicating she should take a seat before sitting down next to her.

"Just that you had to go in and get the bone fragments from his broken ribs out."

"Well, we did that and also confirmed that no further damage had been caused by the them. Dean is a lucky man to be alive right now, those fragments were in some very dangerous places." Doris tried not to shudder.

"When Dean was crushed, his heart was trapped between his sternum and his spine. The trauma essentially bruised his heart muscle causing an arrhythmia, an irregular rhythm. That's why you saw them shock him in the field. Then we have the issue with his lungs. They were also compromised by the crush injury and that resulted in a collapsed lung. Sometimes you'll hear the medical dramas on TV call it a tension pneumothorax. We suspect he may also have pulmonary contusions which are basically bruises on the lungs and we'll monitor that closely. Still with me? " Doris nodded.

"Ok. We're worried about a couple of things with his lungs so Dean is still intubated and on a ventilator. It may seem drastic and be pretty unnerving to see, but believe me it's the best thing for him right now. We'll eventually wean him off it once the oxygen levels in his blood improve and he starts breathing on his own a little bit better. In order to re-inflate his lung, we put in a chest tube which you'll see on the left side of his chest. If you've ever had a family member in for surgery that required a drain, it'll look something like that. Then to round it all out Dean's got a broken collar bone, a fractured sternum and multiple broken ribs. " The doctor stopped after that and seemed to be looking at Doris for signs of shock or any hint that she'd absorbed anything he'd just told her. She thought she'd gotten the gist and had only one question.  
"Is he going to be okay?" The doctor's face softened at her question.

"He's got a lot going on and we're going to be monitoring him very closely for the next 24 but he's stable at the moment and did really well in surgery. You found him right?" Doris nodded sadly. "We don't know how long he was laying there before you got to him so there's a chance that his brain didn't get the oxygen it needed. We've run every test in the book and there's nothing to suggest that we'll have that problem but we won't know the full extent of Dean's injuries until he wakes up." Doris thanked the doctor who patted her knee and stood to leave.

"When can I see him?" She asked, embarrassed at how much she sounded like a lost little girl in that instant.

"He'll be headed up to the ICU when he's out of recovery and they usually only allow family in to see patients up there." Something in Doris' look must have amused him because the doctor hung his head and laughed. "Okay, here's what we'll do. You go wait in the ICU waiting room and I'll spread the word that you're his aunt. All right?" Doris thanked the doctor with a wink and a handshake then asked the girl behind the desk for directions to the other waiting room. The receptionist was explaining it when Robert returned with their coffee.

"I just saw the surgeon, Robert. Dean is out of surgery and headed to recovery. They'll be moving him to the ICU next but the doctor seemed pretty optimistic. He wouldn't come out and say it, but I think he's going to be okay." She said happily taking the offered cup of coffee from Robert's hand.

"That's awesome, Doris! Did they give you an idea when he'll be up to talking?" Cop first, friend second, she should have figured.

"He's on a ventilator, Robert. You might have to wait awhile." she said seriously.

"Now come on, Dori. You know that's not how I meant it." She raised her eyebrows at him and he had the good sense to avert his eyes. "Look, will you be okay here if I head back to town? Andy called my while I was getting coffee. Apparently the Bed and Breakfast is starting to collapse in on itself and someone let slip what happened this morning even though I told everyone to keep quiet about it. Apparently the whole town knows now and people are upset. I gotta get back."

"Don't you worry about me. It takes more than a scary old hospital to do me in," She said with a smile. "Besides Dean's partner will be here soon."

Robert hesitated for a moment like he wanted to say something on the subject but must have changed his mind because he gave her a smile and told her to be careful and call if she needed anything. Robert headed for the elevators and Doris headed in search of the elusive ICU waiting room.

She found it in the east wing of the hospital and before going in Doris paused and pulled out Dean's cell from her pocket having almost forgotten her promised to call Sam to give him an update. The call went straight to voicemail like she suspected and she left as much of the information from the doctor as she could remember before telling him to be safe on his travels and hanging up.

She used the phone in the waiting room to let the ICU nurse station know she was there and settled in for the inevitable wait. She'd been through enough of them before. Over the years there had been sick family or friends and even the occasional student, but the waiting never seemed to get any easier... and she supposed that was a good thing. Time seemed to have no meaning in a hospital and she watched the hour hand skip around the clock face with disjointed unpredictability while she divided her time between a 4 year old magazine and a TV in the corner set perpetually on mute. She wondered at one point if the ICU staff had perhaps found her out, realized that she wasn't family and wasn't going to let her in, but eventually a nurse with a kind face came to tell her that Dean was situated and she could go in to see him now.

Doris got the usual ICU spiel as the nurse led her down the hall to the entrance of the floor: 5 minute visits max. every hour, you had to leave between 5 and 6pm, no exceptions, and to please be courteous to the other patients. Doris nodded her agreement, knowing she would be breaking at least one of those rules.

The ICU was accessed by a set of double doors which opened by pressing a button on the wall. Doris watched the nurse do this, noting its location for next time and was amused to see only one of the doors open fully. The other stopped midway through and refused to go any further. The nurse gave the door a few experimental pushes but nothing she did would entice it to move. Eventually she gave up with a shrug and led Doris in through the working side. The working door returned to its proper place after they had passed through while its twin remained obstinately open as if it were mocking them. Doris stifled a nervous laugh and followed the nurse past several curtained rooms, stopping in front of one loudly proclaiming itself UNIT 3 in bold white letters on the glass. The curtain behind was drawn.

"He's sedated, but we like to tell everyone to talk to the patience when they're like that. He can most likely hear you." The nurse abandoned her outside the glass door and Doris stole herself against what she knew she was about to see. She had to remind herself for a moment that this was just a stranger and one that she had only just met. He wasn't family, yet she felt a connection to Dean that she didn't quite understand. She was invested now and when Doris Petersen got invested, she didn't do it half assed. Squaring her shoulders, Doris pushed back the curtain and entered the darkened room.

Dean was lost in a sea of machinery and she fought against the current to reach his bedside. The boy from the diner was carefully tucked beneath hospital blankets and most of his face was obscured by the ventilator tubing, but she could still see it was him. The depthless eyes were closed in artificial sleep and some instinct deep within her chest compelled her to gently brush the hair back from his forehead and whisper in his ear.

"Don't you worry, baby. Sam is on his way. You hold on just a little while longer and he'll be here." She let the tears she'd been holding back for hours fall then and they splashed against Dean's pale skin. She didn't know this boy, but seeing him so broken and torn (and not just on the outside, she suspected) she couldn't help but weep for him. What must it have been like for him in the darkness of that basement so alone and faced with such an evil and without his family near? Lost in her own grief Doris missed the tear that formed at the corner of Dean's own eye and tracked down the side of his face to disappear into the pillow.


	8. All Along the Watchtower

Doris got the distinct impression that she was not at all what Sam Winchester had expected when he finally arrived at the hospital around 5 o'clock that evening. She had been chased out of Dean's room by the nurses who had come in to change sheets and medicines and she had wanted to give Dean his privacy, so she'd gotten a quick bite then meandered back to the waiting room to wait for Sam.

She was the only one in the room and if she hadn't just spoken with him on the phone to tell him to meet her in there, they likely would have passed by each other in the hall, never realizing their mutual connection to the poor boy in ICU.

Sam was gigantic, all beanstalk legs and long hair with brooding eyes and a forehead permanently creased with too much worry. Where Dean's eyes searched the world for meaning, Sam's apparently had found it, but didn't understand what to do with what it had found. Doris had to fight back the urge to hug the nervous young man, reminding herself yet again that she was just a stranger to these boys, even though every instinct within her told her to fight and protect for them. She grabbed for the crucifix at her throat and wondered at what God was thinking.

"Are you Doris?" The tall boy asked.

"I am. You must be Sam."

"Yeah, it's nice to meet you," he held a hand out to Doris who took it, her own wrinkled one lost in the sheer size of Sam's grip. "How is he?"

"He's stable for now, but before I tell you any more, you and I need to get a few things straight," she maybe said it a little more harshly than she needed to, but she wanted to get her point across and even though Sam probably could have drop kicked her into next Thursday, the young man nodded. Eyeing her curiously for a moment, he finally took the chair immediately in front of her, his knees nearly crossing the entire space between them to almost touch hers. She was completely dwarfed by him, old age and short statue working against her, and that was going to make any attempt she made at intimidation pretty laughable. All well, she'd try anyway.

"First things first, is Dean FBI?" Sam studied her for a long moment and Doris could clearly see the war raging inside his head over what to tell her. She got it. This boy didn't know her from Adam and had no reason in the world to trust her or tell her anything. Especially if her suspicions were true and there was something more going on with Dean and his younger brother. She needed something to show him she was on his side, convince him he could trust her.

"Look, I'm only asking because the sheriff, he's an old sweetheart of mine by the way, put a call into someone at one of the New York offices to get info on your brother after he was attacked. If Dean isn't FBI then you'll need to run interference because Robert is going to want answers. So, if I'm going to help with that, I'm going to need you to answer my question." Sam shifted in his seat and his eyes searched hers with heated intensity. Doris held her breath waiting for the moment she would be dismissed and pushed out completely.

"No, he's not FBI." She let out her breath.

"Cop?" Sam shook his head.

"But he  _was_ in Oriskany investigating those murders." There was no question there but Sam understood her meaning and nodded.

"Okay. Are you his brother?"

"I am."

"And you guys are from Kansas?"

"For the most part."

"Why did you and Dean need a break from each other?" She could tell by the look Sam gave her he was not expecting the question but she had an obligation to protect Dean. Just like she hadn't quite yet proven herself trustworthy to Sam, Sam hadn't proven himself yet either.

"He told you that?" Sam asked, his voice rising with surprise.

"Not in so many words. Answer the question." Again, it was a little more forceful than she intended and Sam stared at her like he didn't seem to know what to make of her.

"We... had a conversation that didn't go so well." Sam started off slowly. "I might have been a little harsh in some things I said to him and he might have been a little too unwilling to listen to truth. He got pissed and took off and... and I can't believe I'm telling you this. I don't even know you."

"Well, seeing as how I'm your best source of quick information at the moment, you could at least _try_  to trust me. Plus, I'm old enough to be your grandmother and I saved your brother's life back there." The statement wasn't to toot her own horn by any means, but it seemed to impact Sam and that was all that mattered. "I think that entitles me to at least know a little bit about the man who showed up in my town asking questions about mysterious murders and posing as a reporter and then an FBI agent.

Besides," she continued, trying to lighten the mood, "you can tell anything to your grandmother."

"I wouldn't know."

"What?"

"Nothing. Will you tell me what you know now?" She could tell she was making him uncomfortable, but she pushed on anyway.

"Just a few more questions first. What is it exactly you and your brother do? Be honest with me, Sam. I know something is going on here I don't understand." The question had Sam turning the full intensity of his scrutiny on her. She sensed in that moment that what she was asking of him was huge, that things were at play here she couldn't even fathom and to ask about them was to rip the universe asunder and alter the course of her destiny. But Doris Petersen had led an uneventful life, albeit a good one, but she had never done anything _epic_  with the life she'd been given. Now she felt like she was standing at the head of a path that would lead her into the realm of the extraordinary and the only thing standing between her and her destiny was a gigantic, shaggy haired boy with penetrating eyes who didn't trust her.

It took him ages to answer but finally he did. Sam put his elbows on the tops of his knees and laced his fingers together without looking up at her. She waited patiently for his answer and didn't expect what she got.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Sam asked. She started a bit at the strange question and eyed him curiously.

"I believe in the soul," she said carefully, "but I don't presume to know the exact mechanics of what happens to that soul after we die."

"Not good enough, Doris. Answer the question." Not happy that her own demands had been thrown back in her face, she answered begrudgingly.

"Fine. Yes, I believe in ghosts."

"Demons?"

"I'm Catholic, dear."

"How about monsters? Werewolves and vampires and such?"

"I'd have to go with 'no' on that one." She answered truthfully, the thought of such creatures being real preposterous in her head.

"Then if I were to tell you what me and my brother do, you wouldn't understand." Sam looked up at her then and Doris had to look away while she weighed his words, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. What he was essentially telling her was that their work revolved around ghosts and mythical creatures and the idea seemed ridiculous to her at first but as she weighed the new idea against the things that had been happening in Oriskany lately, the way those men had been murdered and then Dean attacked, she had to admit that something out of the ordinary was going on. There was no one in the room with those men when they'd died and somehow they'd disappeared from their very beds with no viable explanation...but to think that it had something to do with the stuff of her childhood nightmares was just... She got the feeling of standing at the trail head again and this time instead of blocking her way, Sam was inviting her down the path. She had a decision to make. Doris closed her eyes and took the proverbial step forward shaking her suspicion and doubt off into the dust behind her.

"So, you're almost like those paranormal investigators on TV but you also go after those other things you mentioned, too." She met Sam's gaze again and his eyes were surprised.

"There's a whole heck of a lot more to it, but that's a pretty good way to look at it, yeah," he said staring at her. He seemed genuinely shocked by her apparent acceptance of what he was telling her. "You actually believe me? Just like that, with no proof?"

"Have you lied to me yet?"

"No..."

"Well, then I'm not going to assume you are now."

"But you don't even know me, lady!"

"Young man, I think I'm old enough and wise enough to know when someone's pulling the wool over my eyes." Sam let out a nervous laugh at that but quickly went serious again, the creases in his forehead deepening as he contemplated her.

"Look Sam, you're either telling me the truth or completely delusional but after what's been going on in my town lately and after what I saw in the police files, there's only one logical conclusion to come to." The declaration had her resolve sliding firmly into place. She still had more questions, a million questions really, but she yeah, she was in this for the long haul.

"I answered your questions, Doris. Will you tell me how he is now?" That voice of his was back. It was the one on the phone from earlier and it had her heart cracking apart all over again.

"Oh, Sam, I'm sorry. Of course." She took him through everything that had happened that day and he listened with only the occasional comment or question. Thinking it only fair to give him some idea of who she was after he'd answered all her questions, she interjected bits of her own history into what she was telling Sam and of how she'd met Dean and about her connections to the Sheriff and what she had learned from him so far. When she had finished something fundamental had shifted between them and Doris felt an indescribable feeling of inclusiveness, like her destiny was now intertwined with these brothers and there was no reversing it. Sam must have picked up on it to because his entire demeanor changed and he was suddenly more open and willing to accept her after hearing her story. It was like watching rock break apart and by the end of it he'd somehow crumbled down into nothing but a scared kid sitting in front of her, as real and as human as she was.

"I don't know how to thank you for being there for him today. Normally we work jobs like this together, but he took off after this fight we had. Part of it was my fault, I was really rough on him and then I didn't follow till later and... Well, part of me is so mad at him for going off on his own but I understand why he did it too." Sam bumbled, running his hands through his hair. By the looks of it, he'd been doing that a lot lately. Some of the rigidity had left his frame and he slumped back into his chair, apparently comfortable enough with her now that he could relax a little.

"Family is a funny thing, Sam." Doris mused, thinking back on her life with 3 brothers. "It's one of those rare connections in life that you can try everything in your power to sever, but it always stays connected in the end. You can cut it, burry it, even shoot it in the face if you wanted and next thing you know, its back and stronger and more beautiful than ever."

"But I told Dean I didn't want to be  _brothers_  anymore. How do you come back from that?" He looked at her with pleading eyes and Doris couldn't help but put a hand on his knee.

"You're here, aren't you? That right there proves my point exactly! Don't you see?" Sam offered something like a nod then turned his head away when his eyes began to mist.

"God, I want to see him. When did they say we could go back in?" Doris looked up at the clock on the wall and saw that more than an hour had gone by since she'd been asked to leave Dean's room.

"Right about now. I'll wait here while you visit with him for a while."

"All right."

"Just remember, he's not awake yet and on that vent. It can be kind of a shock."

"Would you believe me if I told you this wasn't the first time we'd been through something like this?" Sam asked, pulling himself up onto his impossibly long legs to stretch.

"Oh, I think I can imagine. Will you come get me if he wakes up?" Realizing too late that she was giving Sam the perfect chance to send her away, she instantly regretted her words. While she was aware of the connection she shared with these two men, it wasn't apparent yet if Sam felt the same. She had no business being there at all really. She was a good Samaritan who's part in all this had ended the moment Dean was in the hospital under the care of doctors and Sam had every right to ask her to leave. She might even listen, but only to get as far as the parking lot then stick around just until she could make sure Dean was ok. Still, she waited with bated breath to see if she would be dismissed. While probably having no clue of the inner turmoil she was suffering through at the moment, Sam answered easily.

"Of course." He said it with a smile, too and for the 2nd time in as many days Doris melted under the smile of a Winchester.

Giving her head an amused shake, she gave Sam the general gist of where he needed to go to find Dean's room but he paused by the door before leaving.

"You know what, Doris. Why don't you come with me?"

Not really sure of what to make of Sam's request, Doris protested.

"No honey, you should have a minute or two in private with your brother."

"That's just the thing. I was thinking about that and in our line of work, well... he might not think it's really me and if he knows you, it might be better if your there to convince him I am who I say I am." Doris pondered what he had said and for the first time since she'd met these two impossible boys she felt a flicker of uncertainly and fear. If Dean needed to be convinced that Sam was Sam, then was her life in danger, too? Sam picked up on her hesitation immediately, seeming to read the fears her mind.

"Here's what we'll do," he started, pulling a small flask from his pocket. "You go down to the chapel and get me some Holy Water in this. Demons can't touch the stuff. There are a couple of other things I could be and all of them have an aversion to silver. I've got a silver knife on me which I won't bring out right now because you look like you're about to faint as it is. If I'm any of the things out there that can change form, I'll have a bad reaction if I cut myself with the knife. When we get to Dean's room and if he wakes up and doesn't trust it's me, we'll do the tests and everyone can rest easy. Does that work for you?" A little light headed by what she was hearing but on board with the plan, Doris managed to nod her agreement and took the flask from Sam. A thought had her stopping before she could leave.

"How do I know you won't just kill me before Dean wakes up?" Sam seemed to be thinking her question over and for a moment Doris' wild imagination brought up all sorts of violent and tragic ends that could befall her at the hands of Sam Winchester but the smile he gave chased them away in an instant.

"I think you're old enough and wise enough to know when someone's pulling the wool over your eyes, Doris" Sam deadpanned.

Doris couldn't help but laugh.

"Touché, Sam. Touché."

Holy water acquired and safely in her skirt pocket, Doris led the way to Dean's ICU room with Sam close at her heals. The doorway that was malfunctioning earlier had apparently been fixed and both doors swung inward with no problem to admit them onto the floor. They stopped at the nurses' station for a quick professional rundown of Dean's condition for Sam and were told that he still hadn't woken up. After directions on what to do should he wake and fight the intubation and some questions Sam had, they continued on.

She let Sam enter Dean's room first, no longer concerned that he wasn't who he said he was and went to find them an extra chair. When she returned, Sam was at his brother's bedside and though her head was telling her to leave and give the brother's their moment, she couldn't help but stay and witness the sad scene.

Sam had pulled the lone chair in the room over between the machines helping Dean stay alive and sat with head bowed and a hand on his brother's forearm. There wasn't much of Dean's skin exposed what with the IVs and blood pressure cuffs in the way, but Sam had managed to find a clear bit of his brother to hold tight to. Doris' heart gave a flutter in her chest as the scene brought her own old and painful memories to the surface. Recalling those long ago times had her backing out of the room, no longer comfortable with invading Sam's moment.

"I was just telling him how afraid I was he'd be dead by the time I got here. I spent the entire trip worrying about how he was going through this all the while thinking I hated him." Doris stopped in her tracks, realizing he was addressing her directly even though she thought she'd made a stealthy entrance and he hadn't noticed her in his pain. Saying nothing and sensing he had something important to say and that she was to bear witness in Dean's stead, she listened to his confession.

"Ever since Dean and I were kids our father made him take care of me. Our mom died when we were young, and my Dad just got so obsessed over getting revenge for her death that Dean sorta got lost in the shuffle. Every day it got pounded into his head that it was his job to protect me and for so many years, he did. He did things, unspeakable things, to keep me safe, and that worked for a little while, but then he started putting me before everything, before his own life and the lives of other people until it got to the point where I was constantly having to deal with the consequences, never able to return the favor and forever letting him down when I tried.

So about 5 months ago I finally, FINALLY get the chance to redeem myself for all the shit I'd pulled and be the one to do the saving for once. I had been given this chance, this one moment to literally obliterate evil from the face of the earth, but there was a catch. It was going to kill me. I was okay with it, I was ready for it, but Dean... Dean couldn't let go, he couldn't get out of that big brother mind set and let me die. So I let him talk me out of what I was doing but what I had started wasn't going to be so easy to stop. It turned out I was going to die anyway. Then my brother, who couldn't bear the thought of being alone in this world and fighting against what we fight alone, tricked me into doing something I never ever would have agreed to do if I had known what was really going on. When I eventually did find out what he'd done, I was furious with him and told him I didn't want to be brothers any more. I wouldn't give up the life we lead, but we had to take emotion and self sacrifice and everything else that had gotten us to that place, out of the equation. I gave him an ultimatum and he took it.

I knew he was pissed and eventually we had this sort of showdown in the kitchen of this place we stay at. I was so mad at him for always swooping in to save the day, even if it meant everyone else around us burned, and for constantly making these huge, universe altering decisions for me on his terms instead of giving any thought to what I wanted and what it would do to me. So I told him, in no uncertain terms, that if our roles had been reversed, I would have let him die. I knew right away what I had said came out wrong. I knew he thought it meant I didn't care if he lived or died and I should have explained myself right then and there but I needed him to be hurting, to be as frustrated and angry as I was so instead of staying to try and make him see what I wanted for us, I went to bed. In the morning, he was gone.

I found a note he'd left and thought some space might do us both some good so I didn't follow but then I started thinking about how he can get when he drinks too much and gets low, so I followed his paper trail to this truck stop outside of Chicago and that's when you called me. All the way here I wondered if my last interaction with my brother on this earth was going to be what we said to each other in that kitchen and that he was going to die thinking I didn't value his life.

You said before family isn't a connection you can easily sever. Do you think that's still true for us, Doris? Even after all that?"

Sam finished his speech with the question and for a moment Doris wasn't sure what to say. She'd been given glimpses of an existence out of context and ones she didn't fully understand and was now being asked to divine meaning from the slices. All she could offer was what her gut told her.

"I stand by what I said before, Sam." Sam's head popped up at that but he didn't look over at her.

"I think what the problem is here is that you boys just don't know how to talk to each other anymore. When you bottle your feelings up like that and then explode them on each other when the other one isn't expecting it, you're going to keep getting yourselves into situations like these.

Sam, you've got very real issues to deal with here but the key is going to be talking to Dean about it in a way he's going to understand and not fight you on. Then, you are going to have to be willing to listen to what he has to say about it and deal with it, not brush it under the rug. Keep doing that and your relationship with turn into some kind of cyclical, toxic mess. You being here proves to me that you give a damn about your brother and Dean will see that too. There's hope here and its plain as the nose on my face but it's going to take a whole hell of a lot of work from both you to fix what's been broken and it's certainly not something that's going to happen overnight.

So yes, I think there's still hope for you and your brother, and lots of it. I don't know, maybe sometimes you just need a pokey old lady to look at things critically for you and give you an honest answer with no bullshit." Sam looked over at her then but his eyes didn't hold the sadness she expected. They almost held a kind of wonder.

"Who _are_  you?" He asked and she couldn't help but snort.

"Doris Petersen, local business owner, floozy to the sheriff, saver of lives and retired elementary school teacher, at your service!" She said with a salute and Sam started to laugh. It was a nice sound and one she guessed not often heard.

Sam looked back to his brother and Doris stretched her aged muscles till they popped enjoying the feeling as things shifted back into their proper places. She put her chair down in a spot far enough away to give Sam his space but close enough to Dean to still be able to keep an eye on him and they sat in the hushed room, each one lost in their own thoughts. It was easy to sit in the stillness and not speak. The gentle whoosh of the ventilator and the steady quiet beep of the heart monitor carried time away and Doris found herself drifting as they waited for Dean to wake up. The nurses wandered in every so often to check on Dean and see if they needed anything but Doris and Sam always said no. What they needed couldn't be delivered by some candy striper.

There was a tv bolted to the wall behind Doris' head and she was glad when Sam didn't move to turn it on after a nurse suggested they do so. She much preferred sitting in the silence to any distraction the tv might offer. It was weird, she knew that, but she had never been the kind of person to need anything but herself to fill long empty hours. Sam was apparently of the same persuasion and hours later they were still in their same positions though Doris had remembered to grab her 4 year old magazine from the waiting room and was rereading some recipes in the back.

"When's the last time you ate something, Sam?" She asked when her stomach gave a loud grumble. The sandwich she'd procured earlier hadn't been enough apparently. It was the first time either of them had spoken since their conversation about how Sam and Dean had left things.

"I had..." he started to answer her question, but movement on the bed had both of them looking over in Dean's direction. As if in slow motion they watched one of his arms rise from the sheets and make to bat at the ventilator mask covering the lower half of his face. Sam instantly encircled Dean's wrist with his long fingers and gently set his brother's hand back down on the bed.

"Is he wakening?" Doris asked, clutching her crucifix with eyes darting back and forth between Sam and Dean's prone form.

"He's trying to," Sam answered. He got up out of his chair and bent over his brother. "Dean?" Doris rounded the other side of the bed to get a better look at what was going on. IV poles and his monitors prevented her from getting too close, but she could at least see. Dean's eyes were fluttering but not open yet.

"This is usually the hard part. He's going to be royally pissed off he's on this thing," Sam warned, gesturing to the ventilator machinery, "but if we can get him to calm down they'll keep the sedation light and we can communicate with him a little easier."

"You really have been through this before, haven't you?" She asked, trying not to imagine what could bring them to this place enough times to make it rote.

"More times than you can imagine."

"Wouldn't it be better if they just sedated him fully?"

"Probably, but it wouldn't be what he'd want and we need to see what he knows in case we need to lay down some protection." Doris couldn't argue with the logic, but she shivered at what Sam's words could mean.

Sam focused his attention back on Dean who's eyes were darting beneath their lids. He looked young and frightened with his brows knit in anxiety and his body hidden beneath so many machines and Doris found herself silently praying for him to open his eyes.

"Dean? Can you hear me? You're in the hospital and Doris is here with me. They had to put you on a vent, Bro, so please don't take that out on us, okay? Don't fight it." Doris wondered at how much Dean was really picking up on with growing anticipation. If it was going to be as bad as Sam made it out to be, she needed to prepare herself. A few seconds later Dean opened dazed green eyes.

"Good morning sunshine, " Sam said with a smile and Dean's gaze wandered in the direction of his voice. She could tell the exact moment Dean processed who was standing over him because his eyes went wide and all hell broke loose.

Dean simultaneously tried to push Sam away then grab for the tube down his throat with surprising strength and speed. Not believing that anyone as hurt as Dean could manage such a feat, she watched as Sam struggled to control Dean's arms and pin them to the bed all the while calling his name, trying not to injure his brother further and begging Dean be still. When the heart monitor beside the bed began to wail, it finally broke Doris out of her shock and she tore around the end of Dean's bed to get on the other side of Sam. Knowing they only had a few minutes in which to do this, She leaned over to whisper in Dean's ear.

"Hush now. You hush honey. It's really Sam, Dean. I promise." She didn't appear to be getting through to the still struggling Dean so she tried a different tactic. Putting her face in his field of vision and sharply calling his name he stilled for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes. His stare was pure terror and not just for himself, she realized, but for her as well. He was remembering her and was trying to convey with his eyes that she needed to run. Shiny with tears, they darted from the door of the ICU room and back to her face with such urgency she almost started crying herself in her frustration. He looked so lost and afraid and they were the cause.

"It's Sam, Dean. I promise," she pleaded. "He told me everything about what you two do. He even took his silver knife with the holy water and cut himself. I got the holy water myself, Dean. It's really him. It's really Sam." He was listening, but still struggling. She needed something else.

"Listen pal, you've got about 30 seconds before the nurses show up and if you don't want them to sedate you twelve ways from Sunday, you've gotta calm down." Whether it was from exhaustion or acceptance she wasn't sure, but Dean finally started to still under Sam's hold.

"That's right, Dean. Relax."

Not really aware of what she was doing, Doris ran her fingers through his sweat soaked hair and cradled his head in her arms, whispering platitudes and promises that Sam was Sam over and over again until he calmed and the promised nurses arrived.

They fussed over Dean for a few minutes, adjusted his medications, added a few more, then left with the promise that the doc would be by soon to check on Dean. When they were finally alone, Sam cautiously approached Dean's bedside once again. Least she be needed, Doris stayed close but tried not to hover. This time when Sam leaned in, Dean's stare remained calm but questioning.

Doris watched as Sam and Dean went through some sort of ritual deciding on what gestures would mean what in an effort to better communicate with each other and the only part of it Doris understood was the 'blink once for yes, twice for no' part. Oh, and the part about how sad it was they even needed such a system at all.

"Do you want me to get out the knife?" Was the first question Sam asked when they had finished.

Two blinks. No.

"Are you in any pain?" Dean's focus went internal for a moment but he finally answered.

Two blinks.

"Are you lying because Doris is here?" Dean gave a rude gesture and Doris couldn't help but choke on a laugh.

"Nice way to act in front of a lady, Dean," Sam joked, adding his own laugh to hers. "Do you know where you are?"

One blink.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" Dean didn't answer right away but Doris could tell he was trying to work it out. Frustration bloomed across his face.

Two irritated blinks

"It's okay." Sam calmed. "Do you remember Doris?"

One blink. Doris felt her chest tighten a little at that.

"Good. That's good Dean." Dean made a gesture with his hand and Sam sighed before looking over at Doris. Not sure what his gesture meant, she waited.

"He wants to know what happened." Sam said finally and Doris understood. Dean had been through a horrible ordeal and taking him through the events leading up to it all wasn't going to be doing him any favors. Sam seemed to be looking to her for direction.

"Shall I tell him then?" She asked, both agreeing to it but still leaving it up to Sam to make the final call. After a few seconds he nodded at her with a sigh.

Doris took Sam's place beside Dean and wrapped his left hand in both of hers before gently asking if he minded the gesture. Dean smiled just slightly from behind the ventilator and blinked once. Having forgotten the order of things, she looked to Sam who mouthed a 'yes.'

"They found you in the basement of the Bed and Breakfast. Do you remember that place?"

One blink

"The man who found you first came to my diner to call 9-1-1. I followed him back and found you in the basement. I didn't think you were breathing on your own and something had crushed your chest so I gave you CPR as best I could while we waited for the paramedics to get there. You're at St. Elizabeth's in Utica. We're about 30 minutes away from Oriskany." Dean made a gesture with his hands Doris didn't understand and she looked to Sam again.

"It means 'more'. He wants you to tell him more."

"When they brought you in you had a collapsed lung and about 8 broken ribs. There were some bone fragments that they were worried about so you had to have emergency surgery. Deputy Hayes found your cell phone and wallet back at Irving's motel and I got a hold of Sam while you were still in surgery. As you can see, he got here pretty fast." Doris looked over at Sam and flashed him a smile.

"They still have you on a ventilator because of the trauma to your lungs. I think they called them pulmonary contusions, or some such nonsense. Anyway, we're waiting for the doc to get here to see if you can come off it. I bet you'd like that wouldn't you."

One very enthusiastic blink. Dean made the sign for more with a questioning look in his eyes.

"You also have a fractured sternum and a broken collar bone. Whatever attached you sure did a number on you, Dean. You're lucky to be alive."

One blink.

"You don't remember anything about what happened to you?"

Dean used the hand Doris wasn't holding and made a 'so/so' gesture in the air.

"Only some things?"

One blink.

"That's okay. We'll work on that. I'm going to have Sam come back over." Doris made to leave Dean's side, but his hand closed firmly around hers before she could. She looked back over at him and he made the universal sign of thanks with his free hand. Not knowing what to say and knowing that anything she tried wouldn't cover what she felt in that moment, Doris brought Dean's hand to her lips and kissed the top of it. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't forced. It felt like a million bits of chaos converging on one perfect moment to cement itself into the history of two separate and individual souls forever joined by what they had endured together. With great reluctance they both let go of the connection and Doris stepped aside for Sam.

Doris could see Dean's eyes begin to droop as she backed away and Sam, seeing it to, stepped back up to Dean's bedside to ask him more about the attack before they lost him again to sleep.

"I know you're tired, dude," Sam said, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, "but I need to know if we're in any danger. Do you know what you were hunting?"

One blink.

"Demon?"

Two blinks

"Monster?"

Two blinks."

"Spirit?"

One blink and Dean's eyes went misty with emotion. Doris' breath caught in her throat and she tried not to gasp. She thought she had accepted everything Sam had said in the waiting room but Dean's affirmative blink finally cemented that acceptance into place. She watched Sam touch the back of Dean's hand awkwardly, trying to give his brother some comfort even though it appeared not be something they normally did for each other and Doris felt a little sadness at that. She could tell that Sam cared deeply about Dean, anyone with half a brain could see that, but they were stuck in some kind of rut and she didn't know if she was going to be able to help them get out of it.

"Did the spirit attack you, Dean?"

One blink.

"Is it going to come back for you?" Dean didn't answer.


	9. These Boots Are Made For Walkin'

Dean came back to conscious thought in stages. In the haze of the pain killers they had him on, time seemed to go in and out of existence: cognizant moments surrounded by spaces of time so black, he wondered if he were back in that basement again. Doris and her wrinkles were there a lot, and Sam was too and each time consciousness would return he tried to get their faces to stay in his vision for longer and longer periods of time. He remembered the first time he'd woken up, could recall that Sam was Sam and that at some point they'd taken that fucking piece of plastic out of his throat, but he had no concept of how much time had really passed. So he was pretty surprised when the next time he tried to keep his eyes open, they obeyed.

He was in the ICU still, he could tell that much, and his room had west facing windows that opened to late afternoon sun. The blinds were drawn, but light still managed to peak through the holes and cracks to play across the whites of his sheets and make patterns that changed when he moved his knees. A nasal cannula tickled at his nose and he could remember vague memories of having an oxygen mask for a while, but it had disappeared to be replaced by the awful plastic up his nose.

Sam was in a chair facing him, dozing under a white blanket with his head lulling one side. If he had been drooling, Dean might have been compelled to snap a picture of Sam with his phone to use as ammunition later, but that would require a phone and he had no idea where his was at the moment. He made to crane his neck and check around his bed for it but a pain erupted in his chest that was so sharp, he gasped and couldn't stop the cry that escaped from between his clenched teeth. Sam was instantly awake.

"Dean! God, are you alright?" The breath was catching in his chest, making it impossible to answer. "Ok, just hold on, it's coming," Sam thrust a small button into his hand and Dean pressed down hard on it immediately as if the urgency would somehow get the pain medication into his system faster. They had him on the good stuff and as soon as the blessed iciness hit his veins, the pressure on his chest eased and he was able to breathe a little more normal. The sharp white hot pain receded to a dull throb he could almost forget about if he tried hard enough.

"Better?" Sam asked, his concerned face swimming in front of Dean's vision. After a few beets the two Sam's converged and the world righted itself again.

"Better." The word came out scratchy and horse and Dean felt the urge to cough but fought it back to give the pain meds more time to work.

"Don't scare me like that." Sam mumbled irritably. He collapsed back into his chair scrubbing a hand over his face and Dean followed him with his eyes. Their gazes locked and Dean was at a loss for what to do. There was too much to say, too much that needed fixing, and he couldn't wrap his head around the right words that could make it right, but of course that didn't stop his drug addled brain from trying anyway.

"I'm sorry," Sam could take confession as he wanted: an apology for scaring him just now, or for what it truly was: an apology for taking off and landing himself in the hospital. Sam nodded, but didn't hint at which version he'd decided to believe.

"How long was I out?"

"You've been in and out of it for about 2 days."

"Shit, Sam!" He said trying to rise, "You gotta get me out of here."

"Relax Chuck Norris," Sam said with a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down again, "You're not going anywhere with that tube in your chest."

Dean relaxed back nowhere near placated.

"Have there been any more murders?" he asked, trying to drive home the point that Sam needed to get him the hell out of the hospital. Sam eyed him for a moment, clearly choosing his words carefully and shook his head.

"Nope, all's quiet on the western front." Dean couldn't decide if he believed him.

"Where's Doris?" He asked, deciding that a change of subject was in order.

"She headed back to Oriskany to shower and get some sleep. I gotta hand it to ya, Dean. You sure know how to pick 'em!"

"What do you mean?" He asked, a little hurt Sam didn't approve of his new friend. Stupid drugs, he sounded like an adolescent boy who's mother had just become the butt of a schoolyard taunt.

"She gave me the beat down when I first got here. Wouldn't let me anywhere near you until I confessed what we did for a living. Great undercover work, by the way, she had you pegged as a con from the beginning."

"Don't be a jerk Sam! I'm... convilating."

"Then don't be a bitch just cause you can!" Sam quipped back. "And convilating isn't a word, Dean."

It was ass backwards and cockeyed but the banter between them was reminiscent of old times and Dean found his eyes swimming with unbidden tears. He really hated what pain meds did to him.

"Dude, are you crying?"

"Shut up Sam." He said, rubbing at his eyes. "You know what this stuff does to me. What'd they give me, anyway?"

"Dilaudid, I think."

"Nice. The good stuff. How?"

"How what?"

"How did she know I was full of it?"

"Who, Doris?"

"No, Sam. My doctor." Sam sighed.

"The first thing she asked me was if you were FBI. She didn't buy it and the Sheriff was suspicious too, but we took care of that."

"How'd you two manage that?"

"Apparently they used to sleep together."

"Doris and the  _sheriff_!?"

"Yeah!"

"Huh," Dean figured he didn't want the sordid details on that one so he didn't push the issue and stayed quiet.

"She saved your life. Do you remember her telling you that?"

"Vaguely, it was right after you had her convince me you weren't some shape shifter or possessed." There was more to that thought, but Dean didn't dare voice it.

_Because I didn't think it was you, because I didn't think you'd ever come for me, because you couldn't' have been my brother._

The thoughts had Dean shuddering.

"That button's there for a reason, Dean. Make sure you use it." Sam had thankfully misinterpreted the tremor.

"I'm glad she stuck around." He said quietly.

"Yeah, me too, even though I don't think I could have gotten rid of her if I tried. It was like the Spanish inquisition with her at first but then I explained what we did and she accepted it like it was nothing. It was pretty amazing, actually."

"Do you trust her?" Sam took a moment to answer and Dean assumed it was because he was trying to deicide but what he said next caught Dean off guard.

"She saved your life Dean and when I got here, I was pretty shaken up over what had happened to you and how we'd left things and she... I don't know... she just... listened. I told her almost everything so I guess we don't have any choice at this point. She's in." Dean thought about that and what it could mean for their new friend. They'd need to try and keep her at arm's length to keep her safe, but it would be nice to have an ally in town. Especially one who was close to the sheriff.

"Is my cover blown? Does the sheriff still think I'm FBI." Dean asked, thinking about how hard it would be to investigate if the sheriff knew who he really was now.

"Yeah, we salvaged it. I figured there would be no talking you out of finishing this hunt."

"Hell no, Sam. We need to get whatever it is that's doing this."

"That might be a little harder to do now, Dean."

"What do you mean?"

"That Bed & Breakfast? Part of it collapsed this morning."

"No shit!"

"Yeah, so unless whatever it is is going to hide out in a pile of rubble, I don't know what it's next move will be or if it's going to hightail it out of town."

"The only thing that was making sense to me was vengeful spirit, but not everything fit. If it is a ghost, she's powerful enough to squeeze men to death so you'd think she'd have been around for a while but no one mentioned any previous murders. I was going to hit up the library to see what I could find, but... well, you know."

"Now that I'm here, it'll go faster. We'll get it, whatever it is."  
"Thanks, Sam. And I mean that."

"Good grief, you really are high as a kite aren't you?" Dean grinned, trying his best not to care that Sam wasn't taking him seriously.

"What does the sheriff know about you? What cover did you use?"

"As far as he's concerned, I'm your partner. Only Doris knows we're brothers." Dean studied his brother for a moment and thought on what he'd just said. Were they partners or brothers? The kid needed to make up his damn mind.

"Got it." Though he didn't.

There was silence for a bit and Sam looked away from him to stare out the window with brow furrowed. He was fiddling with the edges of the blanket over his lap and obviously mulling something over. Maybe he was going to try addressing the 12 ton elephant in the room.

"Dean, do you feel up to taking me through what you remember about the other night?" Okay, not what he expected, but Dean knew the question would inevitably come and he had been dreading it ever since he'd opened his eyes and their conversation had started.

The memories of what had happened in that basement were coming back to him in pieces, nightmarish flashes of absolute blackness and the all encompassing feeling of drowning. It had invaded his dreams and every time he closed his eyes, he was back there, even though he tried like mad to remind himself that he was in a hospital and safe. Sometimes the memories didn't even feel like his own like the fear was disjointed and out of sync with what he remembered happening, but he chalked it up to being his brain trying to make sense of things. If he was going to get over this, he needed to face it and prayed his waning energy would get him through to the end. He could feel in his chest the first uncomfortable but faint pulls that precluded pain, but he left the pain med button abandoned on the bed beside his leg. He needed to be awake for this.

"You don't have to yet, Dean. We can wait." Sam was saying when Dean pulled his focus back to the present.

"No, I want to do this now. Get it over with." It was like sitting down to give his statement to the police and he had to remind himself that he was safe and with someone who wasn't going to squeeze him for every tiny little detail he could remember. He also needed to remember to never use the word 'squeeze' ever again.

"I remember being stoked at catching Fallon on the Tonight Show. I had gotten back from seeing a movie here in Utica and interviewing the wife of one of the guys who died and I was going through my notes. That's when I musta dropped off. The show wasn't over yet so it had to have been about 12:45, maybe. Next thing I know I'm waking up in complete blackness in nothing but my skivvies. We're talkin' empty, no light whatsoever." Dean could feel panic trying to well its way up the back of his throat again, reliving the moment bringing back such vivid memories, but he swallowed it down and forced himself to go on.

"I tried not to panic at first, I didn't think anyone was down there with me, but pretty soon I definitely started to feel a presence. I can't even tell you what it was like Sam, waking up in that blackness. I couldn't see a thing and had no idea where I was so I didn't know which way to go to get out so I fumbled around in the dark until I ran into some construction equipment. When I realized where I was, I hightailed it outta there as best I could, but it didn't matter. She got me anyway."

"She?" Sam asked, looking concerned.

"I never saw a face, but I just have a feeling our 'it' is really a she." He answered honestly. If there was one thing they'd learned over the years as hunters, it was always follow your instincts. "She was crying."

"Can you remember what happened next."

At the thought of having to recall the next part, Dean's throat constricted and he tried to wet his mouth to no avail. His throat was still raw from the intubation and Sam seemed to understand what he needed. He got up from his chair and returned with a styrofoam cup a few minutes later. The anticipation of feeling cool liquid run down his throat had him grabbing for the cup then sulking when it was only ice chips and a spoon.

"Dude! What the hell!"

"Sorry, Dean. Ice chips for now. They don't want you to aspirate."

"Aspirate? Friggin' nurses."

"Funny, but I think that's the same thing they said about you, especially the nice one who's ass you grabbed last night."

"Did not!" he protested, having no memory of the event.

"Oh yes you did, though I don't think she really minded all that much."

"Was she hot?" Dean asked, wagging his eyebrows. Sam shook his head in amused bewilderment.

"Are you joking with me cause you don't want to talk about happened anymore?" Dean's brother: the kill joy.

Dean jammed his spoon down into the ice and let two of the larger chunks melt on his tongue, the cool slip slide of the ice the best damn thing he'd felt in years. The water ran down the back of his throat and once gone, his mouth filled back up with cement. Giving up, Sam took the cup from him.

"I got all the way to the door at the top of the basement stairs when it happened. Best I can guess she got her arms around my chest and pulled me back to the center of the room and just started to squeeze. I didn't have anything to fight her off with, I couldn't even see what I was fighting against. Nothing I did could get that pressure off my chest until she just let me go. I managed to crawl away a little bit, but she came back and the air was just gone... and then so was I." He paused there to shrug his shoulders and wipe the moisture away from his eyes, embarrassed by the show of emotion and not daring to look up at Sam. "Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the hospital looking up at your ugly mug."

Sam opened his mouth a few times, whether it was to comment or question, he couldn't guess, but whatever Sam had wanted to say stayed with him. The same Doc who was there to pull the tube out of his throat chose that moment to walk in.

"I've got great news, guys!" He was a 40 something, scrawny bespectacled kind of a man who always tried to be your friend but only managed to come off as creepy. Dean sent a pleading glance in Sam's direction, but his brother just shrugged.

"Dean my man! Nice to see you among the living for a change," Dean swallowed down a mouthful of irritation.

"Do you want to hear my great news?" The doctor asked in a sing song voice, waving Dean's chart in the air. "Your oxygen levels are really improving, you're incision is looking fantastic and the nurses wanted me to give you their best because, gueeees what!? You're moving to the step down unit today, buddy!" The doctor pushed his coke bottle glasses back up his nose then held a hand out, clearly expecting a high five from Dean. Knowing his mouth was hanging open with utter astonishment at the ridiculous man in front of him he looked to Sam thankfully stepped in before Dean did something he was going to regret.

"Doc, when do you think he'll be released?"

"Well, we need to keep an eye on his heart and lung function and he'll need pain management for a bit longer but if he's a good boy and follows all Dr. Simpson's directions, I think he could be ready to go home in a few days!" Dean narrowed his eyes at the creepy doctor who referred to himself in the third person and tried to give grown men high-fives and tried not to launch himself off the bed and choke the guy. There was so much that could go wrong in Oriskany in another few days time and he needed to get out of this damn bed and back on the hunt. As if to scold him for even thinking it, the pain in his chest chose that moment to seize and he tried to hide from Sam the fact that he was scrabbling at his pain med button again.

Sam was the one he was going to have to convince that he was well enough to leave. There was no way he'd be able to sign himself out AMA without Sam's help and, if it was like any other time in the past, Sam would most likely get Doris on his side and Dean wouldn't even have her to fall back on. If he could convince Sam that he was ok and made promises he probably wouldn't keep, maybe he could get out tonight.

Sam seemed to know what he was thinking and when Dean looked back up at his brother, his head was shaking slightly from side to side.

 _"Yeah,"_  he seemed to say through his eyes,  _"Not gonna happen."_

Sam thanked the doctor and begrudgingly shook the man's hand after Dean deflected his attempt by grabbing the ice chip cup Sam had left on the table near his head and burying his face in it only coming out when he was sure the doctor was gone.

"Smooth," Sam said with a laugh and took back his seat beside Dean.

"Dude, that guy gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"Still, you didn't have to be so rude."

"Blame it on the pain killers."

"How are you on those, by the way?"

"Never better!" Sam eyed him warily.

"Seriously, Sam. I'm feeling pretty good." His campaign had begun.

"Dean, I know how you can be, but you have some serious injuries that you need to let heal properly. This isn't some dislocated shoulder I can just pop back in for you."

"I know that, Sam."

"Do you?" Dean looked away. "Look, this is bruises on your heart and lungs and actual fractured bones we're talking about, Dean. You need to take it seriously. Do you remember the time you broke your leg? Well, just cause you can walk away from this one doesn't mean that you shouldn't take it just as easy as you did when you broke that leg."

"Oh come on Sam! I was on that couch for weeks, it nearly drove me nuts!" telenovas still made him crazy.

"Look, I'm not going to make you come back to the bunker with me and leave this hunt, but you've got to meet me halfway here Dean!" Sam said, eyes pleading. "You take care of yourself, and I'll help you figure out what's going on and get rid of it. If it really is a vengeful spirit then maybe it's just as easy as finding her grave and doing a simple salt and burn."

"And when have things ever been simple for us, Sam?"

"I'm just saying let's not try to avert a nuclear disaster before the alarms have even gone off."

"Unless we only have nuclear disasters because someone convinced the plant manager not to have a catastrophe plan!" Dean fired back, the reduction in his pain great enough for him to draw out some feistiness.

"This is exactly what I was talking about back at the bunker, Dean. Why do you always have to sacrifice yourself!?" Sam's voice was starting to rise and Dean balled his fists in frustration.  
"Wanting to leave the hospital and finish a hunt is hardly sacrificing myself, Sam!" Dean half-yelled, words clogging in his throat, caught on too many emotions and the still raw skin of his throat. "Why do you always assume every fucking thing I do is self sacrificing, why can't it just be that I feel ok and I think I can handle it and I want to get back to the 'saving people' part of our job?"

"Because this is always how it is with you Dean!" Dean opened his mouth and made to move forward in his protest, but the ever lurking pain flashed out across his chest, knocking him back against the pillows as a coughing fit took over him. Sam and the world went watery as tears slid out from his eyes at the constriction in his chest. Every inhalation was agony as the coughs pulled unimaginable pain from him in blue and white bursts behind his eyelids. Somewhere far off Sam was calling to him frantically.

"Dean! I'm sorry, it's okay, it'll pass, just breathe."

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

 

It felt like only minutes, but when Dean opened his eyes again, everything had changed. The light of the day was gone and the room he was in wasn't the one he remembered. Instead of the small ICU room he had been this one was larger and he was partitioned off from the other half of it. He heard the unmistakable sound of someone a few feet away hack and then spit. It could only mean one thing. New room and new roommate.

Dean groaned.

"Are you okay, honey? You need some more pain meds?" Dean opened his eyes and found a concerned Doris hovering over him. She'd changed too, no longer in her waitress uniform but in jeans and a flannel shirt and gray hair that fell past her shoulders.

"Where's Sam?" He wished it hadn't come out so childish and Doris sat back in her chair. She was studying him with that stare of hers and he instantly feared the worst. He'd been arguing with Sam, he could remember that much, but had what they'd said to each other really been enough to drive Sam away again? Apparently so and Dean felt that Sam shaped hole in his heart rip itself back into existence in his mangled chest again.

"He left, didn't he?" he didn't mean for it to sound so forlorn, but pain meds had never been kind to him.

"Whatever put that thought into your head?" Doris asked, sitting up a little straighter in her chair.

"We fought. He's not here..."

"No, honey, he just needed a break and to... take care of something else. He'll be back." The revelation that Sam was still there surprised him, but her words pushed the surprise aside.

"What 'something else'?" He asked, wondering what could possibly have stolen his brother away, especially after their fight. Doris was clearly unsure of what she should do and Dean didn't know if he should let it lie or push her for more information. If Sam was off doing something stupid, he wouldn't be able to follow, not with the pain he was in. The spiked beast that was his physical pain was silent for the time being, but every so often, as if it were a living thing inside his chest, it would move and shift and try to pull noises from him he didn't even think he could make.

"I don't want to worry you with it, Dean. You need to heal." The words reminiscent of what Sam had said, Dean closed his over tired eyes and tried not to get angry.

"How long have I been out?" he asked instead.

"I got here about 4 hours ago and you were in this room. I don't know when they moved you just that you passed out pretty good after your little episode. Hey, good news though! You ditched the chest tube and most of your fancy equipment!" Dean tried to find excitement, he really did, but even after hours of sleep he still felt like he'd been run over by a truck.

"What did Sam tell you happened?" He asked, cracking an eye open to look at her.

"Just that you started coughing after he upset you. He was pretty shaken up over it." Dean snorted, immediately sorry for it as it passed his sore throat.

"Don't laugh, Dean," she chided. "This is serious."

Dean's first thought was to ask the older woman sitting in the chair beside him just who the hell she thought she was saying something like that to him but found himself staying silent. Doris had saved his hide back at the Bed & Breakfast, reunited him with his brother and had accepted the idea of hunters without batting an eyelash all after having only met him once. She didn't know him and yet here she was, watching over him while Sam was off doing who knew what and he was about to ruin it all by being a smartass. So instead of putting up the protective barrier around himself he let it go and apologized.

"I'm sorry Doris. Things got kinda heated between us and I thought for sure he'd book."

"Well he didn't."

"What's going on then? Where  _did_  he go?" Dean watched uncertainty play across her face and he tried to fight back the idea that was forming in his head.

"Someone else got attacked, Didn't they?" Doris sharp eyes were on him again and he knew he'd gotten right.

"Oh, god!" He made to move but a firm hand on his forearm stopped him. The beast inside his chest raised its head but was quick to lay it back down and go on slumbering.

"Sam said you'd try this, but listen to me before you do something stupid." Dean sighed but gave a nod of assent. "It's not like what you think. It wasn't the same this time."

"What do you mean?"

"They found two more bodies this morning but not at the bed and breakfast. They were asleep in their beds. They weren't crushed, just... dead."

"You sure it's our kind of thing and not just some fluke? It doesn't exactly fit with what's been going on."

"Sam wondered that, too. I don't think so. There were two victims on opposite ends of town who died the exact same way and they both had puncture wounds on their chests."

"What did Sam think?"

"He was sure it wasn't vampires then asked me a lot of questions and then said he was going to go get some things that would help protect your room. He should be back by now."

"Have you tried calling him?"

"Last time I did, it went straight to voicemail."

"Doris, you've got to help me get out of here, we need to..."

"Now wait just one damn minute, Dean! You are in no condition to go anywhere and I happen to agree with Sam that you need to stay here!"

"So he did tell you more about our fight than just that he'd upset me."

"Dean, Sam is a big boy. Let's give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he's handling things and will be here when he gets here." For the first time since Dean had met Doris, he wanted to throttle her. His brain was churning through every scenario of what could be keeping his brother and all of them ended with Sam on his back and his guts in a pile on the floor beside him.

"What if..."

"I won't hear anything more about it. You watch, 5 minutes tops and he's here." And she was right, much to Dean's chagrin. A few minutes later Dean heard Sam's voice arguing with someone in the hall outside his room but he had no way to get up and find out what was going on. He looked to Doris with beseeching eyes and she got up out of her chair to go and investigate. When they came back in Sam was carrying a few grocery bags and looking pissed off.

"You're awake!" Sam exclaimed too brightly as he brushed off the dividing curtain that had attached its self to his leg in the wake of his static electricity.

"No thanks to you," he returned, giving his brother a hard look. Sam ignored the jab and set the bags down on the table.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about out there?" He asked, and Sam and Doris shared a look.

"It was Sherriff Zerbak, he wanted to get your statement." Sam answered, sticking his hand in one of the bags and pulling out a container of salt.

"What did you tell him?"

"We told him that you were still too weak to do it, dear," Doris answered, helping Sam empty the bags the rest of the way as he launched into explanations of each item's use as they pulled them out.

"Hey," Dean piped in as Sam relayed the many uses for salt, "anyone think to check on my neighbor and see how he's taking all of this?"

Doris laughed. "He's deaf, dear. We're fine." Put in his place again, Dean fought off encroaching weariness to speak up again angrily.

"Damn it Sam, enough already, what'd you find out about the new deaths!?" Sam looked up from the things laid out on the table and looked between him and Doris who cast her eyes to the floor looking properly abashed.

"I'm sorry Sam, he guessed. I wasn't going to lie to the boy!" Sam didn't seem surprised by Doris' revelation but he wasn't exactly happy about it either and he set his gaze back to Dean with heated intensity. After thinking it over for a moment he seemed to have decided something and sighed before answering.

"There were two more bodies Dean, but it was nothing like your attack or the murders before."

"That's what Doris said." Dean put in and Sam looked over at her again but she averted her eyes.

"They brought the bodies here and I got in to see them."

"What did you find?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. If I didn't know there was already something supernatural going on in Oriskany I would have thought that they'd both died of natural causes, but there were two puncture wounds on both bodies and their faces..."

"What?"

"Well, let's just say something scared the shit out of the them before they died."

"Two more dead so soon after people were murdered, they've got to be connected." Dean thought out loud, rubbing the gauze from his bandaged fingertips over his chin.

"But this is completely different Dean. I've never seen a vengeful spirit change up their mo like that. It doesn't make sense."

"Who were they?" He asked absentmindedly as the ideas about what they might be dealing with swirled around in his head. Silence was his only answer and he looked up in alarm.

"What?" He demanded. Doris was on the brink of tears and Sam was beside her, unsure of what to do. "What is it?"

"One of them was my Abraham." She said sadly, unable to look up at him

"WHAT!?" Dean's eyebrows disappeared under his hairline and his heart monitor started beating erratically.

"Oh, I shouldn't have told you that. Oh, Lord forgive me. Please Dean, please calm down."

Dean closed his eyes against a wave of rage that crashed over him and tried to calm himself down. The nurses were going to show up if he didn't get himself under control and he balled his hands into fists to try and rein in his anger. There were certain people in the world you just didn't mess with and Abraham's death had just earned whatever creature they were dealing with a one way ticket back to hell. He wouldn't rest until it was wiped from the very face of the earth and he would do it as slowly and as painfully as possible.

"Who else?" He asked between clenched teeth, keeping his eyes closed.

"Dean, I don't think it's..."

"Who. Else?"

"A 5 year old local girl." Sam answered simply, tensing for Dean's reaction.

There was only one thing to do, Dean figured, finding himself calm even after Sam's admission, but he knew it wasn't going to go over very well.

"All right, both of you have let me know what you think about me and rest and I agree with you that I need it, but it doesn't have to be here in this hospital," Dean put his hands as Sam and Doris both started to protest at once.

"Hear me out, that's all I ask. Sam, you know how hard it is to ward in a hospital. There's too many people who ask too many questions. Any wards and salt lines you could put down would have to be hidden and might not be enough. The rules of this hunt just changed anyway and we have no idea what we're dealing with here. This isn't about me staying in the hospital to get well, it's about getting somewhere where we can protect ourselves properly, regroup and take care of this assclown once and for all!" Finishing his impassioned speech he looked to them both in turn, trying to gauge their reactions. Doris looked mystified but Sam was thinking on what he had said. Dean knew he was right. They couldn't protect him here, not like they could in let's say a decently warded motel room where salt lines stayed where you put them. He watched as Sam worked it out for himself.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Dean might be right," Doris eyes went round as saucers but she didn't argue, just sat shaking her head from side to side.

"Good it's settled."  
"Like hell it is!" Doris exclaimed, finally speaking. "Dean, you just had surgery and your heart is bruised for goodness sake. You need to be in the hospital." Dean looked to Sam and was grateful when he stepped in.

"He's right Doris. I can't protect us here, this thing found him once already and we need some place where people aren't going to see or question what we're doing. It's for his safety as much as it is for Oriskany's. We'll be closer to what's going on and Dean may be the biggest clue we have for figuring out what we're dealing with. It's a good plan." Dean nodded, trying to put more weight behind the argument. Doris chewed on her bottom lip but was still shaking her head.

"This is insane. Dean, you need to be here where they can monitor you. What if something were to happen."

"We can handle it Doris, just like we always have," Dean said, glancing over at Sam who wasn't looking at him but not objecting either.

"Let's just say I agree to go along with this plan... would you do me one favor?"

"Name it," Dean said, without really thinking.

"Come to my house. I live in an apartment above the diner and its right downtown. You'd be as central as you can get and I can help you out." It was Sam who objected this time.

"Doris, we couldn't ask that of you. These things... they can get pretty dangerous and we might not be able to protect you."

"Sam Winchester, I am old enough to decide what's right for me and old enough to not have some snot nosed kid try and make universe altering decisions for me." Something in Doris' speech stopped Sam dead and Dean watched a look pass between his brother and Doris. She'd said something important, important enough to shut Sam the hell up but Dean got the impression it was none of his business.

"So," Dean said, clearing his throat, "it's settled then?"

They all looked back and forth between each other, no one having any more arguments to voice against getting Dean out. The enormity of what they were undertaking, not just springing him from the hospital but the thought of what they might be up against too, filled the space between them and Dean looked back between his brother and his new found friend and wondered just what the hell he'd gotten them all into.


	10. Free Fallin'

"Dean, are you ready for this?" Sam's words pulled Dean out of his thoughts and he looked up to find his brother at the foot of his bed standing ready behind a wheelchair. The double meaning in Sam's question had him stopping to let the gravity of what they were about to do settle in around him. Leaving the hospital was the right thing to do, they might not be safe here now that people had started dying again in Oriskany and no one was fighting him on the decision to leave anymore, but he was injured and it wasn't some busted lip or stupid concussion. He had actual broken bones this time, bruised internal organs and four days ago he'd needed a ventilator just to keep breathing (as Sam constantly was reminding him). The hunt that had started out as something easy, as an escape from the colossal fuck up that was his life, had morphed suddenly into this life or death thing that he'd managed to drag his brother and Doris into with him. There was no walking away from it now so yes, he decided with grim determination, he was ready. He was ready for all of it. Realizing Sam was still waiting for an answer, Dean nodded and started maneuvering himself to the edge of the bed.

The IV pain medications were gone now and in their place he'd been given a brown bottle filled with little white pills and directions that said to take them every four hours for pain. He handed the bottle over to Sam who put it in the plastic bag filled with the rest of his medications and things from the room which he hung on the back of the wheelchair before returning to Dean's side. The dilaudid was still in his system but he could already feel his body reacting to the lower levels of the drug and he was starting to feel the first whispers of the pain he knew was just around the corner. It was a barely there jolt that came every time he moved and he knew from experience that the pills never fought back against the pain as well as the IV stuff did and he tried not to shudder at the thought of what might be in store for him.

Dean was dressed in his normal clothes again and he relished the feeling of being out of that damn backless gown but the fabric of his jeans kept catching against the still healing scrapes covering his lower half from his trip across the basement floor as he worked his legs over the edge of the bed to dangle above the tile. The cuts stung but he used the superficial pain to help him ignore that jolt in his chest still thankfully kept at bay by the dilaudid still in his system. Sam moved into help him get to his feet but Dean pushed his hands away regretting it a moment later when his chest rebelled, redoubling its efforts to convince him what a colossal mistake leaving the hospital might be. A mutinous muscle spasm seized his chest and nearly sent him collapsing to the floor.

When Sam broke the news to the hospital staff last night that Dean would be leaving the on-call doctor had stopped in to try and talk him out it. He was new to Dean's case but that didn't stop him from going into gory detail about all the complications that could arise should Dean leave the hospital AMA, one of them being the painful and debilitating muscle spasms associated with his sternal fracture,. Up until now Dean hadn't really given any thought to what the doctor had said, but now, as he clung to Sam for support, he was starting to think that maybe the doctor knew what he was talking about. His first instinct was to rub at the spot and try to release the muscle but any undue pressure on his chest only made things worse so he balled his fists in Sam's shirt and rode out the pain that even dilaudid couldn't hold back. When it was finally over and he could think again, he realized Sam was talking to him.

"Dean, this is not a good idea. You don't have to do this."

"No, Sam," he said, shaking his head and looking up at his brother through watery eyes. "There's no other choice."

Once he'd calmed his breathing, Dean let Sam put his boots on for him, his broken ribs making that particular task impossible, at least for the time being, and he tried not to think of other things Sam was going to have to help him with when they finally got him to Doris' apartment. This hunt was apparently not only going to test his stamina but his spirit as well. His entire life Dean had always had an aversion to being taken care of. It was his job to do the looking after and when it fell to him to be the weak one, the one who needed help to do even the smallest of tasks, it never went over very well. There were going to be epic battles fought between him and Sam in the coming days, he just knew it, and they would fight because Dean didn't know how to let anyone take care of him and because Sam was going to demand that he learn.

When Sam was finished Dean was able to get himself off the bed and into the wheelchair on unsteady legs. He'd been stuck in a hospital bed for almost 5 days now and except for a few sessions with a physiotherapist, he hadn't gotten much exercise. His legs were wobbly beneath him and he collapsed heavily into the chair, the movement jarring his bones a bit and pain flaring to life in his chest but not enough to make him cry out.

"Alright?" Sam asked, eyeing him critically. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded.

The sky outside when they finally emerged from the hospital was covered in a layer of steely gray clouds that spat out a mixture of ice and snow onto their heads but Dean could have cared less about the weather. Just outside the sliding glass doors was the most beautiful sight Dean had ever seen. The Impala, glossy from her trip through the freezing rain, sat rumbling happily as if she were as pleased to see him as he was to see her and she glistened under the lights of the hospital entryway. She was long and sleek and Dean let his hand ghost over her paint as Sam wheeled him down her length, feeling her purr beneath his fingertips. A sweeter reunion there never was and Dean suddenly felt his spirits lift and in that moment there was nothing that could bring him down.

"There's my girl," he sighed contentedly and Sam snorted behind him.

Dean would have given anything to hold onto that joy seeing the Impala again brought him, but Doris got out from the driver side and it was time to decide how best to get him home. He'd spent most of his time in the hospital propped up with pillows, his lungs not happy when he was flat on his back and his sternum not happy when he sat straight up. Eventually it was decided that they'd ease him into the backseat so he could stretch his legs across the leather and use the side of the car for support and there were several tense moments when the creature in his chest uncurled itself to remind him it was still there and the stitches of his incision from surgery pulled mercilessly, but he eventually got in and Doris appeared with a pilfered hospital pillow to ease behind his back. It wasn't the best situation but once he was settled again, the pain eased and Sam returned the wheelchair to the front vestibule before jumping in behind the wheel.

"Okay?" Sam asked, catching Dean's eyes in the rearview.

"Take me home, Jeeves," he said with a snicker and Doris started laughing and he couldn't help but chuckle back. Twenty minutes into their drive, however, Dean was no longer laughing.

The Impala's wheels seemed to find every bump and imperfection in the road and although Sam was doing his best to avoid what he could each jostle from the road seemed to set the jagged edges of his broken bones grinding against each other with each shift of his body. At first the growing pain was manageable but it increased in its intensity as the Impala raced down the interstate until he was fighting against crying out and Doris was permanently turned around in her seat eyeing him warily.

"How're ya doing back there, honey?

"Never better," Dean lied through gritted teeth. Sweat was starting to form on his brow from the strain of trying to hold his body in ways that wouldn't hurt so much but he was starting to shake with the effort and the perspiration rolled off his forehead and into his eyes. Without thinking about it, it swiped it away with the wrong arm and pain from his collarbone pulled a moan from him.

"Are all you Winchesters such bad liars?" She asked.

"Only all of us," he managed with a wink.

"Don't worry Dean," Sam piped in from the driver seat, "we're almost there."

Dean caught his brother's eyes again in the rearview mirror and was suddenly reminded of another time and place. They'd been in this situation before and he fought back the urge to look out his window and make sure a semi wasn't barreling down the highway towards them. He thought that those memories had long been buried. Apparently he was wrong.

Dean broke his eye contact with Sam to close his eyes against the rising tide of pain threatening to crash over him and sweep him away. He wasn't due for pills for another two hours, but he was seriously considering dry swallowing one even though he was already making plans in his head to wean himself off of them. He needed to be sharp, especially if he was going to be of any help finishing this hunt and he'd be useless if he was doped out of his mind. He contemplated fishing the bottle out of the bag of his things on the seat beside him but in the end he decided it wasn't worth the effort of trying to shift himself to reach the bag. He thought briefly about asking Doris to do it for him, but Sam was pulling into the driveway behind Doris' diner a few minutes later and the Impala's rumbling ceased when Sam cut the engine. Quiet came suddenly and Dean swallowed down the bile in the back of his throat at the thought of moving again.

Extricating him from the backseat ended up being a new lesson in torture. To get up from the seat, even with Sam's monkey arms reaching in from outside to help him, he had to bend over. There was no getting around it and bending over meant pressure on each and every one of his broken bones and stretching the skin around his incision from surgery. The beast inside him was fully awake by the time it was all over, thrashing about in his chest like he had no pain meds left in him at all. He stood panting with a hand on his baby when he finally got free, trying to pretend it wasn't Sam holding him up, but his own two feet. He was convinced in that moment that he never should have left the hospital.

It took him a minute, but eventually he was steady enough to shuffle forward on his own and if he kept his torso rigid and centered, the pain calmed a bit. He was doing pretty good until he noticed the stairs. Doris' apartment was on top of the diner and Dean stared up at a set of impossibly long stairs that started from the ground then rose up steeply to end at the door to her place. He could almost hear Sam's thoughts beside him and knew they were having two very different reactions to the staircase. Dean was going to be in some serious pain for a while and those stairs were going to be impossible to tackle on his own. He would need help and that meant that he'd never be able to leave the apartment or go off on his own without Sam or Doris knowing about it and helping him to do it. Once Sam got him up those stairs, he was going to be stuck up there, forced to live out his own version of Misery with no hope of escape.

"This is bull!" He growled, yanking his elbow from Sam's grasp when his brother tried to steer him gently forward.

Doris, mistaking his reluctance for pain, rooted him on.

"Come on, Dean! You can do this! It's only once and then Sam and I will get you comfortable." Dean looked back at his cheerleader and then to Sam who had that look in his eye like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. Sometimes he really hated his brother.

Dean took a deep breath, immediately sorry for it, then let it shakily back out. He was only delaying the inevitable standing there contemplating his sorry fate so he stiffened his core and took the first step on bitterness alone.

Doris headed up first and stayed a few steps ahead of him in case he needed her and Sam took up the rear. The first few steps were okay, he'd found a way to hold himself that made the step up almost bearable but pretty soon the strain of holding his muscles rigid like that was getting to be too much. Just like in the car he broke out into a cold sweat, muscles unable to hold him the way he needed them to anymore and he started to shake until every step was agony. Sam was on the same board as him now and Dean felt himself collapsing sideways into his brother. He wanted to fight it, push off and finish that last few feet on his own but his legs were threatening to send him back down to the bottom again so he didn't say a word when Sam's arm went around his waist and he practically lifted Dean up off of his feet to get him up the last few stairs.

Sam was only trying to help but before Dean knew what was happening pain lanced across his chest and he cried out then choked on it, tumbling down into a coughing fit that stole his very breath and streamed tears from his eyes. Somehow Sam managed to get him onto a pullout couch Doris had set up for him and he desperately tried to pull air into his lungs around the relentless hacking coughs. It was like being in that fucking basement all over again and every time he closed his eyes he was back there. The blackness closed in around him until finally the memory took hold completely and somewhere in the distance he could hear Doris shouting his name, but all he could find in every direction was that terrible oppressive emptiness and a woman crying from within it. It wasn't right and he fought hard against the hand at his ankle that was pulling him down. So far down. The blackness was pure rage and not understanding what was happening to him, he kicked at it, clawed at it, anything to get himself back up and out. It battered against him, searching for entry into his very skin and he cried out when it slipped past him in the dark. There was form and substance to it now and it wanted him. All its rage was centered on him and he curled himself into a tight ball against it having no other defense... then as quickly as it had come the vision was gone and Dean found himself back in reality puking his guts up over the side of the mattress into the trashcan his brother held under his chin. Sam was frantically calling his name and didn't stop until Dean finally pried his eyes back open.

"Oh, thank God," Doris said from somewhere beside him but he couldn't find her with his eyes and had to close them again against the waves of heaves still shaking him. He couldn't tell how long it lasted but eventually the sickness subsided and he collapsed in on himself no longer able to hold himself up. He lay on his side on the pullout trying desperately to stay conscious.

"You stay with me Dean or so help me God, I will throw you over my shoulder and take you right back to that hospital," Sam spat and Dean cracked his eyes to look up at his brother.

"Still here, Sammy," he promised breathlessly even though the pain in his chest was still trying to drag him under. He had to move and tried to roll over but the movement pulled a literal scream from his lips and the world went gray again. Sam left him alone on the bed but seconds later the mattress behind him dipped, a pillow appeared at his back and Sam flipped him quick with a hand on his arm. He cried out again but he landed in the exact spot he needed to and he almost started crying when the pain eased a bit. Sam was breathing heavily beside him and Dean wanted to open his eyes to check that he was okay but he was so exhausted and oblivion was pulling at him relentlessly. The only thing that kept him awake was the fear that he'd be pulled back into that endless darkness.

"Dean, I know you're sick to your stomach, but you've got to try and take your pills, dude. We gotta get your pain under control." A little delirious and seeing no reason why he should argue with Sam, Dean swallowed down what he was given, vaguely aware of the three little pills on his tongue.

"No hospital," he managed to say before the darkness swept him away again.

 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

 

The nightmares were relentless and he had no idea how long they kept him under but by the time Dean jolted out of the latest one and managed to keep himself from tumbling back in again, dusk was at the window beside the pullout and he was alone in the living room. At first he thought Doris had decorated her apartment in some kind of African tribal motif, but once his vision focused again he could see that what he'd mistaken for wall art was actually sigils that Sam must have put up. They were sharpied onto the wall and Dean felt a sudden pang of guilt for what they were putting Doris through. As if sensing his thoughts on her Doris emerged from a hallway off the living room looking like she'd just woken up herself.

"Dean, sweetie, you're awake," She said gently, sitting beside him on the mattress.

"How long was I out?" He asked, rubbing at his tired eyes.

"About 4 hours but hold on a second, I'm going to get you more pain medication before you decide to scare me to death again." Before Dean could reply she jumped up from the bed and went to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water. The pullout couch he was on was in the living room and from where he was sitting he could pretty much see the entire apartment. A few feet away from the foot of his bed was a small kitchen table surrounded by 4 chairs and Dean could see that Sam's laptop was set up on top of it. His brother had obviously started getting to work and Dean was glad for it.

When Doris returned with the water and his pills he swallowed them down then greedily drained the glass of water. It was cool going down his parched throat and he couldn't remember water ever tasting so good. There was a sourness in the back of his throat and what he really needed was to brush his teeth and take a shower, but he didn't know when that would be in the cards for him next and he tried not to let the thought depress him. He wasn't an invalid... but he was, wasn't he...

This time he was.

"Hey, what's with that face?" Doris asked, picking up instantly on his darkening mood. Biting back a wave of irritation at the question, he deflected.

"Where's Sam?" He hated the way his voice cracked from tiredness and disuse and he cleared his throat but something shifted in his chest and there was a minute when he had to fight back against the cough he could feel building inside. It ended up forcing its way up anyway but luckily it wasn't the twisting agony of earlier and he calmed it pretty quickly even though it still managed to suck the energy right out of him.

"He went to talk to the Sheriff and then he was headed over to the library to do some research." Doris answered when he finally calmed. "He wasn't finding much on the internet and wanted to check the public library archives."

"How long ago was that?" He asked with an impatient sigh. They needed to be careful now, the spirit they were after knew Dean and he figured it wouldn't be long until it figured out who Sam was as well. They were all in danger and he was miffed at his brother for taking it so lightly especially now they knew what it was capable of.

"He left a little bit after you finally fell asleep. 3 hours maybe?" Dean nodded then closed his eyes to fight against the anger and fatigue that rolled over him, pushing him bodily back into the pillows.

"I'm sorry if I scared you earlier. I'm not really sure what happened." He knew he had nothing to apologize for, but her voice calling to him in his dreams was still echoing around in his brain and it felt like the right thing to say.

"Pain is a funny thing, Dean. If you don't control it, it can be as detrimental as an injury itself. We just have to make sure we keep you drugged up," Dean could hear the smile in her voice when she finished but instead of making him feel better it only made him mad.

"Why are you doing all of this for us, Doris? What's in it for you?" He asked the question suddenly, not really sure where it or his anger at her was coming from and he immediately regretted it. He didn't dare open his eyes again and look at her. If she had been hurt by his words, he didn't think he could take looking up and seeing it in her eyes and knowing he'd put it there. She was silent for a moment and for one brief second he thought he'd messed everything up again. He tensed for the backlash then opened his eyes in surprise when Doris began to laugh. It was one of those infectious ones too, full throat and from the belly, and all he could do was stare.

"Oh Dean, I'm sorry to laugh but honestly, you two boys are the most untrusting duo of  _sourpusses_  I have ever met in my entire life." She said between laughs, trying to sober herself. "I've had this conversation with you and your brother three times over now. Why can't you just be happy that I'm here to help and stop trying to look the gift horse in the mouth?"

"Can you blame us?" He answered hotly, irritation overwhelming him again. "Sam told you what we do for a living. With that kind of life, you tend to question the motives of everyone around you."

"Well, then to answer your question and finally put your mind at ease, I'm doing this because I can and because ever since you popped into my diner all those days ago I haven't been able to shake this feeling that I need to help you, like it's something I'm supposed to do.

I'm no religious nut, I promise you that, but I have faith Dean Winchester and everything in me is telling me to help you boys and I'm not about to ignore it no matter how snippy you try to get with me. And I guess it's also party because I care about this town and I don't want to see any more people get hurt and if that means getting into bed (figuratively speaking of course) with two strangers from out of town with crazy lives who can help me do that, then so be it!" She was red in the face when she finished, her laughter replaced with conviction in the blink of an eye and Dean sat under her righteous fury not knowing how to apologize. The woman in front of him had done nothing but help and support him ever since the day she'd met him and here he was trying to question her motives like she was out to get him or something. He opened his mouth to speak but she put a hand up to stop him.

"Dean, there's no need. I know you're in pain and hurting right now and it was wrong of me to yell. As far as I'm concerned, we're good... better than good now that we've aired our grievances and will be moving on. Agreed?"

All he could do was nod.

"Good, that's settled. It's done and over with. Now... are you hungry, can I make you something to eat?"

Dean stared at her for a minute, the speed with which Doris had changed gears dazing him, but he cleared his throat and answered.

"A little, but I don't know if I'd be able to keep anything down," As if to punctuate that she really had just let go of what had passed between them she gave him an understanding smile and patted his knee gently.

"I've got some homemade chicken noodle in the freezer. I stay open for lunch sometimes during the tourist season and its always a big hit. Can I tempt you to try it?"

"Ok," he nodded, accepting more than just her offer of soup with the word. Doris gave him a wink then pulled herself up with popping knees to go back into the kitchen, leaving him behind to try and wrap his head around what had just happened between them. Every time he thought he'd gotten a handle on this woman, she threw something else at him from left field and it was like he was in a constant state of bewilderment with her. She hardly knew a thing about him yet she was continuously calling him out on his bullshit and even though they'd literally met 6 days ago, here he was in her apartment, beat to hell and taking it out on her and she was still willing to put up with him. They'd gotten help from plenty of civilians in the past but Doris was different and Dean imagined that if it came down to it, she'd lay down her life to protect them and that thought scared the crap out of him. It never ended well for the people that got close to them and he wondered if maybe that was why he'd tried to push her away just moments ago.

The soup Doris brought him on a tray (much to his chagrin) ended up being pretty damn good and he managed about half of it until the richness got to be too much for his stomach. He'd been surviving on nothing but bland hospital food for almost a week and while the soup went down easy and sat warming his center, the richness made him a bit lightheaded. He dozed for a while after that, the nightmares held at bay by Doris' soft noises around the apartment and didn't wake up again until Sam and the cold February air burst back into the apartment.

His brother was all wind burnt cheeks and disheveled hair and Dean immediately envied him his soiree out into the real world. The thought of being stuck in the apartment, his convalescence stretching out in front of him with no end in sight, had his earlier malaise threatening to settle in around him again and he tried to shake it off.

Sam was carrying a bunch of books and copied microfiche documents all stacked precariously in piles under his arms and Doris came out from the kitchen to help him with some of the burden.

"Good grief, Sam. Did you check out the whole library?" She asked as Sam plopped down the rest of his load on the table.

"I wouldn't have needed all this if Oriskany wasn't determined to stay in the dark ages," Sam grumbled before looking over at Dean who shifted under the weight of his gaze. He could only imagine what he must look like right now all tired and pathetic and hurting.

"How are you doing, Dean?"

"Eh, you know," He replied, knowing just what his brother would take away from his answer. It was usually the small, insignificant injuries that Dean made into huge productions managing to turn paper cuts and infected hangnails into epic performances in suffering. But when it came to the big stuff, the set you back days kinds of injuries, that was when he shut up and stayed quiet and Sam always managed to pick up on it. He hated that he could be so transparent.

"How'd it go at the library?" he asked, trying to shift the focus away from himself.

"All right I guess," Sam eyed him for a minute as if trying to decide if he should go on or not but eventually kept going.

"I started out at town hall and looked into the previous owners of the bed and breakfast. It changed hands fairly regularly over the years but when I went to the library to try and look up more information on the owners I didn't find much. They actually had a really good collection of the old town newspaper from all the way back to the 1700s."

"Bet you were like a kid in a candy store with those," Dean joked, trying to shake off his ill-mood with a jab at his brother.

"Contrary to popular belief, Dean, I don't get off on doing research," Sam shot back, face coloring a little when he realized what he'd just said in front of Doris. "Anyway, the paper mentioned a few missing persons but I found zip on murders or violent deaths in the actual town. The only thing of interest that has happened around here in the past 300 years that anyone wrote about is the Battle of Oriskany."  
"So we got nothing."

"No, not necessarily. I found a ton of books on the battle and a few obscure ones on the area's history. Maybe one of them will give us an idea as to what we're dealing with here" Sam fired back, unwilling to share in Dean's dourness at their lack of facts. "Are you still convinced that it's a woman who's doing this?"

"I am, Sam." He said, shifting as his thoughts drifted again to that endless blackness and the woman who perpetually howled out of it at him in his dreams. He needed something to get his mind off of it.

"Hand me one of those books and I'll get started." Sam and Doris both looked over at him sharply and this time he didn't fight back the irritation when it welled up inside of him. "Oh come on guys! The pain meds are working and I'm feeling pretty good. How much trouble can I get into laying in bed reading a friggin'  _book_?" The mollycoddling had begun and he was already tired of it.

Sam studied him intently for a moment then looked back to Doris who shrugged. Dean opened his mouth to plead his case further, indignation hot in his blood, but Sam reluctantly passed him a smaller hardcover book with  **The Battle of Oriskany** , boldly emblazoned on its cover.

"Thanks." He said it sharp but then apologized with his eyes and tried to convey to his brother with a look that he would take it easy and not be stupid. Sam eventually looked away with a nod and Dean started leafing through the pages of the book while his brother and Doris organized the rest of Sam's findings on the table then set into reading themselves. Every so often someone would throw out a tidbit of history that might be relevant to the hunt and at one point Doris made them some sandwiches that Dean had to refuse. His stomach was calm at the moment but he didn't want to tempt fate by feeding it anything more than the soup from earlier. He read while Doris and Sam ate and let the book he was reading take him away from the apartment and onto the battlefield.

Fort Stanwix, known then as Fort Schuyler, was under siege by the British and their Loyalists. In an attempt to provide some relief, General Nicholas Herkimer marched his Patriot forces across the Mohawk valley and while on the way to aid the besieged fort they were ambushed by a British battalion dispatched to stop them on the road. The monument erected outside of town marked the site of one of the most bloodiest battles of the Revolutionary War which saw the slaughter of more than half of the Patriot force coming to aid their besieged comrades. Even General Herkimer himself didn't escape the fate and even though he survived his wounds for a little while to rally his troops and give orders to the remaining men in the melee, he died shortly after.

While Oriskany itself might not have had the bloody history they would expect to produce a vengeful spirit, the battle fought outside of town where so many men had met violent ends certainly did. The only thing that didn't fit with the theory was why the the activity had chosen now to start and why in the form of a woman haunting the basement of an old bed and breakfast. Dean figured they should be dealing with a soldier if the haunting revolved around the Revolutionary War, so why was it a woman he heard crying from the blackness every time he closed his eyes and why had she suddenly started killing people outside the b&b? Thinking back on his nightmares sent a momentary flash of pain racing across his chest and he clenched his teeth against it, willing the dread of the memories to subside.

"Hey here's something," Doris exclaimed, pointing at the open book before her excitedly. "My friend Olivia at the historical society told me about this once. The bed and breakfast started out as the town tavern, it was pretty much the hub of the community at the time and they had secret meetings down in the basement during the war. Maybe our mystery woman heard something she wasn't supposed to down there and it got her killed. Maybe she was the spy who betrayed Herkimer's men to the British and now she's out for revenge against the men who murdered her!"

Dean watched Sam look up from the book he was reading to look at Doris with astonishment. It was a good theory, a great theory really and Dean could tell Sam was pleased that Doris was getting into this and doing a good job at it.

"Doris, that's brilliant." Sam said with a smile, but Dean still had doubts.

"It still doesn't explain why the activity started up now." He pointed out, irritation growing at the looks he got for poking holes. "Think about what we know about vengeful spirits, Sam. The longer they stay here the crazier and bitchier they get and I'd say she's already proven to us just how long she's been around," He put an absentminded hand to his chest as it throbbed in agreement, "but we should be finding countless reports from over the years about activity there, and that building's been silent for over 250 years. You don't see vengeful spirits, especially ones as old as her, just pop up out of the blue like that."

"What if the construction riled her up?" Doris suggested.

"I can see it pissing her off, but that still doesn't explain why there's no evidence that she ever existed before 2 weeks ago. Then we have the fact that she's up and left the b&b to start killing people around town and in a completely different way. It doesn't make sense. We're missing something here." Doris nodded and Dean watched Sam think about what he had said as he tried to ignore the ache in his chest that was steadily starting to build. He needed more pain pills but didn't know how to ask for them without sounding like a petulant child.

"You're right, Dean." Sam was agreeing. "Tomorrow I'll go check the place out one more time and see if I can find anything. Do you have the EMF meter with you?"

"EMF like the paranormal investigators use?" Doris asked with amusement.

"Exactly," Sam laughed and Dean didn't get the joke.

"I did have it," he admitted, looking back and forth between Sam and Doris a little jealous at their friendly report and not being involved in the joke. "but she fried it the last time I used it. Anyway, didn't you say the place collapsed?"

"Part of it did," Sam explained, "but I drove by there today and you can still access the lower levels. I can go back tomorrow and give it a good once over. It's where this all started, there's gotta be something down there that will explain why this is happening."

A million and a half scenarios of what could go wrong with that plan marched through Dean's thoughts and he toyed with the idea of voicing them but all of them holing up in the little apartment above the diner to pour over books wasn't going to stop what was happening in Oriskany and he knew he needed to let Sam go do the job he couldn't now. His brother had a point and a plan and he couldn't come up with an argument that didn't make him sound like a mother hen.

"Alright, but you gotta be careful Sam, this bitch is not following the rules anymore."

"You mean you're really not going to fight me on this?" Sam asked, eyes going wide in astonishment. He'd clearly been expecting a different reaction from him.

Dean looked over at Doris, thinking back on her admonishment earlier in the hospital when he'd tried to leave and go after Sam. She'd told him to trust that his brother could take care of himself and although the idea had anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach, he owed it to Sam to at least try since it was obviously what he wanted. He only wished it were easier.

"It's a good plan," He said slowly, catching Doris winking at him from the corner of his eye. "Just be smart about it and take someone in there with you."

"How about your friend Deputy Andy," Sam suggested and they all started to laugh. It wasn't really funny but they couldn't help themselves and Dean put a hand to his chest when the laugh shook lose another jolt of pain. Neither Sam nor Doris missed it and the moment passed.

Sam closed the thick tome he'd been leafing through earlier and disappeared into the kitchen to bring Dean another round of meds and a glass of water. He'd been trying to ignore the sudden uptick in the pressure in his chest for a while now and without thinking he leaned forward to take the pills from Sam.

Big mistake.

Pain screamed across his sternum at the upward movement and he couldn't stop the mutinous sob that crawled its way up his throat and stole his breath. Coughing over came him then and all he could think was "here we go again" as spasm after spasm rocked his body until he was puking again into the trashcan that they'd left to the right of the pullout for just such an occasion. Sam managed to get it under his chin just in time and he found himself caught in a perpetual cycle of misery. The muscle spasms brought more pain which triggered more heaves which eased to make way for more coughing which triggered the spasms and the heaves and the pain all over again. He fought against an overwhelming feeling of uselessness and as the blackness creeped again into his vision, Dean tried with all his might to calm himself down. Sam was holding him upright, trying to talk him through the pain and finally, blessedly the coughing and the vomiting subsided and he collapsed back onto his pillows.

"God, Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, his concerned face swimming in and out of focus.

"I gotta go pee," it came out pathetic and weak and he hated himself for sounding like that but he was so very tired and had never before felt so defeated.

"Okay, we'll get you to the bathroom, but you gotta take your pills first." Sam handed him three from the bottle and Dean swallowed them down with a sip of water, praying that they would stay where they were supposed to. He couldn't deal with pain like this anymore and could only pray that the drugs would take him down quick and deep enough that he could escape the nightmares. Though even nightmares were better than the all encompassing pain that kept trying to drag him back to hell. Why had he ever talked them into taking him out of the hospital?

They gave the medication some time to work then when the haze of three pills descended on him, he let Sam gently help him up from the bed and over to the bathroom. There was an awkward moment when they stood outside the bathroom door with Dean leaning heavily on his brother for support where they both laughed as Dean slurred "No way in Hell, dude," at the prospect of being helped inside and Sam had reluctantly released him after he proved he could stand on his own two feet without falling over. When Dean was finished Sam lead him back to the pullout couch then with deft and careful hands, cleaned the incision on Dean's chest before replacing the bandage with fresh white gauze. Dean watched his brother's ministrations through half mast eyes with fuzzy detachment and briefly wondered if this was his reward for his earlier acceptance of Sam going back to the basement. He knew it was just the drugs talking but in that moment he felt a feeling of completeness like the world was right again somehow and there had never been fights or deaths or deep dark basements where things reached out to grab for him from the nothingness. Sam was here, he was pain free and sinking slowly so he let sleep take him, no longer afraid of what lurked in the darkness.

...If only he'd known.


	11. Back In Black

Sam jerked awake in the darkness of a room he didn't recognize at first. His dreams had been chaotic, full of blackness and Dean calling for him in the dark and at first he thought he was still dreaming until he noticed the moonlight cutting a swath of silver across his hand on the pillow and he remembered. He was in Doris' apartment above the diner in Oriskany, Dean was asleep on the pullout couch unfolded beside him and he was sprawled on the air mattress Doris had set up for him because no matter how much Dean needed him right now there was no way he was sleeping up there on that bed with him. Relaxing back onto his pillow, firmly anchored back into knowing, Sam tried to chase sleep back down. He knew it would be elusive, he'd only just fallen asleep a few hours before and he wasn't really sure how he'd even managed that. Dean had been constant restless movement to his right and Sam had been unable to fall asleep, the fear that Dean would have another muscle spasm or a coughing fit keeping him tense and on alert for the slightest sound of discomfort from his brother. Thankfully sometime in the night Dean's breath had evened out and he seemed to fall into a deeper sleep then he'd been able to find earlier. Sam knew his brother's experience down in that bed and breakfast's basement had left him with nightmares that plagued him even in the daylight hours but finally around 1am, after Sam had woken him for another round of pain medication, the nightmares seemed to release him and he was sleeping quietly.

Sam lay in the stillness of the room and tried to shake the anxiety that his dreams had brought. If someone had told him a week ago that he'd be laying on an air mattress in some old lady's house nursing his obstinate brother back to health all while trying to patch up their broken relationship with duct tape and superglue and trying to track down a child killing vengefully spirit, he probably would have laughed. Yet here he was, wide awake in the dark, straining to hear if it was time to feed his brother more little white pills and feeling more conflicted and exhausted than ever.

When he had gotten Doris' phone call all those days ago, he'd immediately assumed it was Dean calling him to bail him out of some mess with the locals with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. What he hadn't expected was to hear from a stranger that his brother was in the hospital on a vent again with 800 miles and 12 hours of driving between them. He hadn't been on a plane in ages, not since that demon who was taking down flights 9 years ago, but he'd caught one out of O'Hare after he'd gotten Doris' call and it had been the worst 5 hours of his life.

The plane took forever to take off then the endless hours in the air passed by with all the speed of a rheumatic giant turtle and by the time they'd landed in the tiny Syracuse airport terminal he was climbing over people in his haste to get to the rental car kiosk, the thought of Dean being dead before he got there propelling him forward. He'd left that car in the hospital parking lot knowing it could never be traced back to him and he bet it had been towed by now. It was a shity Ford Tempo, the only thing they and left, and it had wheezed him down the interstate on fumes so strong he had to hang his head out the window just to keep from throwing up. Then to add insult to injury he was accosted by a tiny woman in her 70s who knew more about them in one sitting than most people got to know in a lifetime. He'd been exasperated with her at first but now he didn't know what he'd do without her. He could only guess at what power she'd used to pull those words from him in that hospital room but he'd told her things he hadn't said out loud in years and it came naturally and there was no denying that she was as much a part of this hunt and he or Dean was now. She fit somehow and he was still trying to wrap his head around how.

Sam shifted his position in the darkness and tried to get comfortable but the nagging anxiety in his stomach had him sitting up to check on Dean. It had been far too long since he'd heard a sound from his brother and it was nearing the time he'd need another few pills but when Sam looked over at where Dean's sleeping form should have been, he found the pullout couch empty. Immediately on high alert Sam's eyes flickered to the dark hallway that lead to the back rooms of the apartment scanning to see if Dean had somehow managed to get to the bathroom on his own but there was no box of illumination around the bathroom door. It stood open and empty as if to  _say 'nope, no brother here.'_  He scanned the rest of the room but didn't see his brother anywhere and in a panic he lurched up from the air mattress, sending it sliding across the floor a few feet.

"Dean?" He called out as he rushed for the switch for the living room lamp on the far kitchen wall, praying that Dean wasn't lying somewhere, maybe on the others side of the pullout, bleeding to death on the floor while Sam had laid slumbering only a few feet away, oblivious. He flicked the switch with his forefinger and the weak light blazed to life illuminating the upright figure of his brother standing with his back to Sam, facing the front door.

"Dean?" He called out tentatively but his brother didn't respond.

There was a time long ago when they were kids when their father had disappeared for 3 weeks and the money had run out and Dean had gone hungry so Sam could eat until it landed him in the hospital with dehydration and a bleeding ulcer from the stress of it all. How their father had gotten them out of that one Sam would never know but Dean had come home from the hospital still vomiting blood and with a serious case of sleepwalking. They had never spoken about that time since and Sam was surprised he even remembered it at all but what Dean was doing now was so reminiscent of that experience, Sam couldn't help but recall the memories. One thing came through clearly enough though and that was the memory of the first time he'd shaken Dean awake during one of his episodes. He'd gone down so hard and so fast and Dean was over him in a flash, fingers wrapped around his throat screaming at the phantom demon inside Sam to get out. He'd barely been able to pry his brothers fingers away from his throat to plead with Dean that it was really him. It took forever but eventually Dean's had mind cleared and he'd gotten off Sam, crying and pulling him up off the floor, apologizing profusely for what he had just done. Sam had calmed him down and gotten him back to bed, their big brother/little brother roles reversed for once. It happened again a few times after that and Sam had learned how to steer Dean carefully back to bed without incident until the episodes stopped all together. So he approached his brother cautiously so as not to startle him and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. If he was gentle and spoke softly Dean would follow without any problems.

"Dean, come on, let's get you back to bed." Sam tugged gently on Dean's shoulder but his brother refused to move. Amazed that Dean even had the strength to stay vertical in that moment, Sam used a little more force to get his brother to move and finally Dean began to turn.

"That's right, come..." the words choked in his throat and time stopped dead and Sam couldn't help the involuntary step he took backwards. Dean rounded on him, the green of his eyes gone and replaced by a sickening white milkiness that had the color draining from Sam's face.

He froze.

"Get out of him," he said the first thing that came to his mind and the thing smiled, wide and toothy, the skin of Dean's face stretching grotesquely with the unnaturalness of it.

"Let. us. out." Dean's voice was gone, this was a hiss, animalistic, snake like.

"Get the fuck out of my brother!" Shock wearing off and regaining his nerve Sam took a menacing step forward. Dean's arm shot out palm up and Sam was lifted bodily from the floor and sent sailing across the room to land on the flat of his back on the table before sliding then flipping and crashing over the side to the floor, taking a dining room chair over with him. The small of his back screamed out in pain and he tried to catch his breath and sit up. He heard the unmistakable sound of socked feet pattering over carpet and as he looked up the thing inside Dean launched his body on top of the table to land in a crouch in the middle of it, swaying back and forth and growling in the back of its throat.

"Let. us. out." It repeated, starting at Sam with those milky blank eyes.

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me? You gotta fight her man!"

Dean's body lunged forward to the edge of the table and Sam backpedaled wildly to get away but it stopped perched on the edge still staring.

"Sam, what the hell is going on?" He looked up to see Doris in the hall, sleep disheveled and rubbing her eyes.

"Doris, don't move! Stay where you are!" The sheer panic in his voice stopping her dead in her tracks. The thing inside his brother flicked it's white eyes in Doris' direction, tilting Dean's head at an unnatural angle. Sam needed to act fast before the thing caused irreversible damage because he wasn't about to lose his brother to some vengeful spirit.

"Who are you?" It was all he could think to ask to get the spirits focus back on him and the thing turned Dean's head slowly back, the smile again on its face.

"Let. us. out."

"No way in hell, not until you let my brother go." The thing didn't seem to be able to communicate very well, but Sam could see it process and understand what he was saying.

Before he knew what was happening it was taking Dean's hands and pulling the t-shirt from his brother's torso with relative ease, the sound of ripping fabric filling the air. Sam watched in sick horror as it tore the bandage from Dean's skin then took the fingers of his hand and pushed them past the line of snitches to disappear them into the flesh of Dean's chest. It pulled.

"STOP IT! STOP IT YOU STUPID BITCH!" Sam bellowed and he launched himself bodily at Dean. They fell in a heap to the floor, Sam able to surprise the thing enough with his attack that it didn't know what to do at first and it struggled madly beneath him. Sam needed salt, he'd gotten that high school bully out of that girl with a mouthful of salt, maybe it would work with Dean. Sam opened his mouth to call for Doris to help but the body beneath him suddenly stilled but Sam didn't dare release the precarious hold he had on Dean. There was blood everywhere and his arms slipped and slid along Dean's skin.

"Oh god...Sammy... god wait... she'll kill me... let her out," Sam let go like he'd been scalded and Dean was looking back at him, green eyed and face contorted in pain.

"Dean, just hold on, I'll get her out!" But Dean didn't hear him and Sam watched his brother's eyes roll back and the white return. The hand came up again and this time it sent Sam slamming into the wall beside Doris, his body leaving a hole in the drywall as stars erupted behind his eyes.

"Let. us. out!" The thing screamed, springing up. It stood there crouched again dripping Dean's blood out onto the floor and Doris helped Sam to his feet.

"My God, Sam! What do we do?" She was near tears and wringing her hands, every wrinkle on her face standing out in stark contrast with the shade of white her face had gone.

"We've got to let him out Doris, or she'll kill him."

"But how did it get in him in the first place?" Her brow was knit with confusion and terror

"I don't think it ever left after he was attacked."

"What!?" But Sam didn't have any time to explain his theory. The thing took several jerky steps in their direction, the movement wrong and unnatural. It raised Dean's hand again and went for the stitches.

"Stop! Stop! I'll do what you want," But Dean's hand continued its motion. "Damn it, stop! I said I'd let you out!" The hand stilled and Sam put his own hands up in the universal sign of surrender, then stepped towards the door giving the thing a wide birth as he circled it. It followed him with its white eyes and for a moment he was worried it would twist his brother's neck all the way around as it tracked him, but Dean's lower body followed soon after. He knelt down to the salt lines, never taking his eyes off his brother, contemplating trying to use it somehow to stop what was happening, but he couldn't risk the thing hurting Dean anymore than it already had. His best bet was to do what the spirit wanted and then follow and see if he could get it out of his brother some other way. Sending up a silent prayer just in case Cas was out there somewhere listening, knowing that his prayers would go unanswered as they had been for days, Sam brushed away the salt from in front of the door and hoped that his gamble would pay off.

With a flick of the wrist, Sam was sent flying again and the thing crashed him onto the floor and into Doris. He took the older woman's legs out from under her but managed to cushion her fall with his body though it knocked the wind out of both of them. Sam sat up just as the spirit used Dean's hand to yank the door open and disappear into the night.

Sam was instantly on his feet and flying out the door to give chase, Doris calling after him as he tore down the stairs ignoring the snow on the ground and the arctic temperatures freezing his bare skin. He could see Dean in the distance, the thing floating him along a few inches off the ground with more speed then he could ever have thought possible. He followed, doing everything he could to keep his brother's body in sight as Dean was spirited away.  He knew where they were headed and soon the crumbling ruins of the old bed and breakfast loomed ahead and Sam watched his brother's shape disappear into the hole that used to be the front door. There was thankfully no one around, the sheriff's men no longer guarding the place since it had collapsed in on itself and Sam ran in after his brother.

Moonlight streamed in through the hole in the building's ceiling, casting the only light in the place and Sam stopped suddenly in front of the basement door.  It was wide open but the darkness down below was complete and impenetrable. Even the moon couldn't illuminate the space and Sam stood staring down into the unending blackness finally understanding what Dean had gone through. To wake up in that emptiness with no idea where you were must have been horrifying for both his brother and the spirit's two other victims. There was no way he was going to find Dean down there without light and he sprinted back over to the floor's main room to try and find a flashlight. Most everything had been removed along with the debris from the collapsing structure and he let out a curse when there was nothing there to help him. He nearly ripped Doris' head off when she appeared at his elbow.

"Oh Sam, thank God I found you! Here," she shoved a coat and his boots into his hands and in that moment he could have kissed her.

"Help me find a flashlight, Doris. It's too dark down there," he said, frantically fumbling off his frozen socks and pulling on his boots and coat then resuming his search, but her hand on his arm stopped him.

"Sam! Look!" Doris was pulling at him and pointing and Sam turned to see what she was gesturing at. The basement doorway that had been pitch black moments ago was aglow in the unmistakable flickering orange of firelight. He looked over at Doris who was standing both transfixed and terrified by the light.

"Where do you think it's coming from?" She asked starting to shake visibly.

"Only one way to find out," he said grimly and he led them down into the unknown.

He took the stairs slowly and one by one, body tense and Doris crowding in close behind him clutching at his shoulder. He didn't mind it, he welcomed it in fact, her presence behind him calming his nerves a little. The placement of the stairs offered no view of the room so they peered around the corner like some awful parody of a Three Stooges episode to look for Dean and find out where the light was coming from.

The room was lit by candles suspended above the ground along the walls by iron fittings. A fire roared in the hearth across from them and the musty old basement that had once been filled with nothing but construction equipment had been hurtled back into the past to take back up its former glory. Tables were set up in rows and Sam could almost hear the sound of voices and the chink of china. There was no one in the room except Dean who was in its direct center on his hands and knees hammering mercilessly at an ever growing hole in the floor. The movements were still not his own, jerky and awkward, and Sam could tell he was still possessed. Ectoplasm dripped from his earlobes in globs of black that splattered onto the floor in time with his hammering and ran from the corners of his mouth in inky black rivulets and Sam thought he could make out the barest flicker of a female form around his brother's own masculine one but he couldn't tell if it was real or a trick of the light.

Not exactly sure what to do, Sam approached his brother cautiously, Doris not far behind, and they watched as Dean made the hole larger and larger until it was big enough for the spirit to reach Dean's hand through, then it pulled up a sack from beneath the stone. It was old, ancient looking really, and the spirit let it fall to the ground when it stood back up in Dean's body.

"Please let me out." it pleaded suddenly, sounding like nothing more than a poor lost soul, and Dean's body crumpled to the ground and the lights disappeared, plunging them into blackness.


	12. Crazy Train

The blackness was indescribable and Sam froze instantly in it feeling Doris run into the back of him before wrapping her arms around his middle. The speed with which the darkness had descended was so disorienting that he had to put his hands out in front of him to stop from falling over. The vision of Dean, black ectoplasm running from his mouth then dropping bodily to the floor had Sam's heart in his throat but he couldn't see a damn thing in the dark. He needed to get to his brother and fast, the spirit had ripped open the stitches of his incision and he'd been bleeding heavily but it was so hard to think in the unrelenting black.

"Doris, are you alright?" He could feel her shaking behind him.

"I think so," She answered, her quavering voice belying her true state.

"Doris, listen to me, I need you to do something," He felt her grip lessen. "Do you remember where the stairs are?"

She hesitated for a moment but he could feel her nod at his back.

"I think I could find them. Do you want me to go upstairs and find us some light?"

"Yeah, I need to be able to see, he was bleeding pretty badly."

"I think there's a generator around here somewhere, the construction workers were using it the last time I was here."

"Doris, you're brilliant. Can you go find it for me?" He needed her head to be in this, he couldn't get them out of this mess without her.

Her fierce reply was the only convincing he needed.

"Absolutely, Sam." Then as an afterthought, "Please be careful."

She tightened her arms around him for a fraction of a second then released him and he listened as her footsteps retreated back the way they'd come. Noise was amplified in the space around him, his ears making up for what his eyes couldn't do as he tried to focus his hearing over the frantic beating of his heart. A few yards away he could make out Dean's ragged breathing and he walked in the general direction of the noise. The vision the ghost had conjured was still fresh in his mind and he expected his hand to hit the solid wood of the tables he'd seen but there was nothing but empty space around him now, the magic broken in the blackness. It was unnerving and he tried to keep his feet going forward in a straight line toward his brother.

It was slow going, tortuously so, but his boot finally bumped against something soft on the ground and Sam fell to his knees on the floor beside Dean, hands shooting out to find the hole in his brother's chest to staunch the flow of blood with his palm. His brother's blood was hot, spilling over his fingers as he desperately tried to apply pressure to the wound. He ran scenarios out in his head, trying to decide how best to get Dean out of the basement and back to the hospital, using them to try and keep the threatening panic and fear at bay. The darkness around him had his nerves frayed and he couldn't even imagine how Dean had managed to keep his wits about him and almost get away when he had been attacked. It was a testament to his brother's strength and Sam grabbed onto it and held on tight, willing his own raw nerves to follow suit. He was no coward, but the darkness was a living thing that surrounded him from all sides and he had no defense against it. He closed the eyes that couldn't see and focused everything in him on the body beneath this hands.

"Come on Dean, don't you do this to me."

"Sammy..." It was a barely there whisper but it had Sam almost laughing with relief as Dean started to stir under his palm.

"It's okay Dean, stay still. I'm here."

"Sammy, she gone?" His brother's voice cracked and Sam didn't think he'd ever heard Dean sound so weak. Panic rose up and tried to choke him.

"Yeah, Dean, she's gone. You got this!" Dean was starting to move more beneath his hands and Sam cursed the complete blackness around him. He needed to be able to see what they were dealing with, blood was still welling up between his fingers but he didn't dare move his hand to prod at the wound. Dean wouldn't be able to take the pain and Sam didn't think he could take hearing his brother scream like he had last night when the spasms had hit, but he needed to get the bleeding under control somehow. Swallowing down the panic that threatened again, he pushed down harder on the weeping incision and Dean cried out.

"I know Dean, I'm sorry but I have to. You've lost a lot of blood. Stay with me ok? Everything's going to be fine." Dean's labored breathing reached his hears and he prayed for Doris to hurry.

"God Sam!" Dean cried out when Sam shifted on his knees. The cold stone was unrelenting on his thinly panted shins and his legs were beginning to go numb below the knee.

"I know, just hold on a little while longer. It's going to be okay... you're okay."

"Sammy, she was so angry."

"I know Dean but she's gone, it's over."

"What happened?" The last thing Sam wanted to do was explain to his brother what had just happened to him, but it was keeping Dean alert so Sam started talking, trying to control the panic in his voice that was coloring his speech high and fast.

"I think she was in you this whole time, Dean. The nightmares were what tipped me off first. You were talking in your sleep and it just felt different, like it wasn't you. Then there was that moment after we got you home where you started coughing and then just sort of disappeared inside yourself and I chalked it up to the pain, but I think it was her trying to take control. I think she was possessing you ever since the day you came down here with the sheriff and then took you over that night when you fell asleep to bring you back here. I think that's when she takes over, when your sleeping. It would explain why her other victims disappeared from their beds. We had the warding up, but I think she was old enough and strong enough to fight against it and stay in you. The salt lines didn't matter either because she had already possessed you before we brought you home and got them down. She took your body over and brought you back here... there was something she wanted from under the floor."

"She hurt you, Sammy?" Dean's question stopped him mid ramble and Sam couldn't stop the nervous laugh it pulled from him. Typical Dean, worrying about him while he was the one lying on the floor bleeding to death.

"No, Dean. I'm fine. I promise."

"God, everything hurts, Sammy." He could hear the emotion behind Dean's words, tears clogging his throat.

"I know Dean. Just hold on we'll get you to a hospital."

"No! No, Sam. No hospitals." Dean begged.

"Dean, you're bleeding, and badly. There's no discussing this!"

"No Sam, you don't understand. She's not done. This isn't finished... she won't rest until it's found."

"What Dean? Till what's found? What are you talking about?" But his brother didn't answer and Sam's heart was back in his throat.

"Dean! Fuck, don't do this to me. Stay awake," Sam pressed down on Dean's wound a little bit harder and his brother groaned weakly.

"Sam, please," he begged on the whisper of a breath.

"I know you're hurting and I know all you want to do is pass out right now, but you've got to stay with me Dean, okay?" He was losing him. Where the hell was Doris? Dean began to tremble beneath Sam's hands and he bellowed into the dark.

"DORIS!" Somewhere in the darkness he heard a generator whine to life and the lights came on around them.

The glare was unbearable at first and Sam took his hands away from Dean's chest to shield his eyes from the light. Realizing what he had done, he quickly replaced them and willed the pain lancing through his head to ease as his eyes adjusted to the light. Dean was shaking and his skin had gone an ashy gray color and was cool and clammy to the touch. Sam heard Doris thunder down the steps and come to a stop behind him with a gasp on her lips.

"Sweet Jesus!" She exclaimed when she saw Dean. "How is he?"

"He's lost a lot of blood, we need to get him to a hospital." Dean's eyes had been clenched shut in pain but they flew open at Sam's mention of the hospital again and his hand came up to weakly ball the fabric of Sam's shirt in his fist.

"No, Sam. Please." his brother begged again, agitation creasing his brow and filling his eyes. "She'll never rest till I find it. It'll never be safe, please!" It was hard to tell if Dean was just delirious from the blood loss or telling the truth and Sam tried to sooth him as best he could.

"Shhh, Dean. I can protect you." He said quiet and low. "You're going to be fine but you need the hospital right now. I can't patch this up."

"Sammy, you don't understand. It's like she left her memories behind. If we don't make this right, she's going to start killing them all." Sam feared Dean was going into shock. He wasn't making sense.

"Who, Dean? Who will she kill?"

"I don't know!" Dean cried out, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "She's so mad and so alone. There's too much, Sammy..." Dean was starting to lose control. They needed to move quick.

"We'll protect them all Dean, but first..."

"We can take him to Harvey!" Doris said suddenly and Sam craned his neck around to look back at her.

"Who?"

"My friend Harvey, he used to be a doctor. He still patches kids up once in a while for families who can't afford their insurance. He does it out of his house, though no one would admit to it.

"You mean Harvey from your diner?" Dean asked from the floor.

"Yep."

"Doris, he's ancient!" It was weak but Dean still managed to sound shocked.

"But he can help. I don't see any other option if you refuse to go to the hospital." She said flatly.

Sam looked back to Dean and then to the blood still pumping out from beneath his fingers and tried to decide what to do. It was going to take more than his rudimentary medical skills to take care of Dean but his brother was insistent that they wouldn't be safe at the hospital and Sam's gut was telling him to listen to what Dean was saying even though he was losing more blood by the minute. If he really did have access to some of the spirits memories, then maybe Sam needed to heed the delirious warning and take Dean to this Harvey character.

"How far away is this guy?" Sam asked, still weighing the options

"Five minutes tops. His farmhouse is just outside of town."

"We need to get some pain meds into him..." Sam said tentatively, still trying to decide.

"Two steps ahead of you, buckaroo," Doris answered, coming around to the other side of Dean with the pill bottle in her hand and Sam looked up at her astonished.

"What? When you raced out of the apartment after Dean, I grabbed a few things. There's a change of clothes for each of you in my pickup and his coat and boots, too.

"Doris..." he was speechless, hot tears sprang to the corners of his eyes in his relief and Sam could have kissed her in that moment.

"Someone's gotta think logically in this mess," She said with a wink and Sam tried to pull himself back together.

"Ok," He said firmly, decision made, "you're going to have to help me move him. Are you up for it?"

"Absolutely." she replied kneeling down beside Dean and waiting for instructions. Sam shook three pills out of the bottle onto his palm and focused his attention back on his brother.

"Dean, can you manage these?" His brother cracked an eye open again and nodded slightly. They were rough going down but Dean somehow managed to dry swallow them and then give a weak smile.

"This is going to hurt, isn't it?" Dean half whispered half croaked and Sam caught Doris' eyes. It was going to be awful, actually and each one of them braced themselves against what they were going to have to do next. There wasn't time to sit around and let the pills take effect, Dean was losing blood and desperately needed medical attention. Sam could only hope that the pills would kick in quick enough to give him some respite from what he was about to go through.

Sam took a few minutes to rip some of the lining from his coat apart to make a makeshift pressure bandage for Dean. The fabric wasn't right for it and it was rudimentary at best, but it helped staunch the flow a bit and that was enough for Sam. Dean was sweating by the time it was over but had managed not to cry out as Sam worked.

He asked Doris to retrieved the bag the spirit had pulled up from the floor and she threw the strap of the ancient leather satchel over her shoulder. Sam knew he would need to come back and investigate further but they needed to get Dean taken care of first.

"Are you sure this Harvey guy will be able to help?" Sam asked one last time when the pallor of Dean's skin sent his heart racing and his mind revolting over their stupid plan.

"He's our best bet, Sam." Doris said, nodding at Dean with her head. There was no more time to waste.

They started with sitting him up and Dean groaned and panted around the pain, burying his face in the crook of Sam's neck trying not to cry out. The pain from the incision combined with his broken bones had to have been agony and Sam's own chest spasmed in sympathy for his brother. He could feel Dean's tears hit his neck as the slowly got him to his feet.

"Don't fight it Dean. Scream if you need to, no one here cares," He felt two puffs of air against his skin as Dean let out a few short laughs at his words.

Doris was stronger than she looked and they had Dean on his feet faster than Sam had expected. He threw Dean's good arm over his shoulders for more leverage in keeping him upright and tried not to wince when an agonizing wail broke from Dean's throat. The hold wasn't ideal, it was going to cause Dean more pain than he could probably afford at the moment, but there was no way Sam was going to get Dean out of that basement if they didn't do it this way.

He started walking them slowly toward the basement stairs one agonizing step at a time. Dean tried to help as best he could, but his knees kept buckling beneath him, his weight constantly trying to pull them back to the floor. Doris was on the other side of Dean trying to keep him steady. When they got to the bottom of the stairs Dean stopped their progress.

"Doris, you gotta go back for the bag." He said shakily, rolling his head to one side to look at her, barely able to hold up his own head anymore.

"Don't worry, honey, I've got it." She said softly, holding up the bag for Dean to see. Seemingly satisfied Dean let Sam pull him forward again.

The stairs were tricky and by the time they got Dean up to the top, he was passed out from either the pain or the blood loss, Sam couldn't tell which, and they manhandled his unconscious form into Doris' pickup. She climbed in beside Dean, supporting his head with her shoulder and Sam slammed the door shut behind her then drove like a bat out of hell towards Harvey's. Doris threw Dean's coat over top of him and while Sam cranked the heat and hit the gas she yelled directions at him every so often to turn left or right while she pulled out her cell phone to call her friend. It was early in the morning, the Impala's clock said 4:45a, but it appeared Doris had managed to reach Harvey because she started talking frantically to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Mable, it's Doris. I need... No Mable, I just need to talk to Harvey. Is he... No honey, I did not tell everyone in town you were an old bat. Who... We'll his hearings not the best anymore anyway is it? No. I'm fine, it's for a friend... Mable... Mable, please just give the phone to Harvey... HARVEY? IT'S DORIS! DORIS! I HAVE A FRIEND WHO'S IN TROUBLE. I NEED TO BRING HIM BY YOUR HOUSE, HE NEEDS HELP! NO! TO. YOUR. HOUSE. IT'S AN EMERGENCY HARVEY, I NEED DOCTOR BOGS! BLOOD LOSS. WHAT? NO, HE'S LOST SOME BLOOD, NO TIME FOR THE HOSPITAL... Sam, what's Dean's blood type?

"O negative."

"O NEGATIVE, HARVEY... YES! OK... FIVE MINUTES TOPS. I SAID: FIVE. MINUTES. TOPS!. OK. I SAID OK, HARVEY FOR GOODNESS SAKES! BYE!" Sam was amazed Dean hadn't woken up with that exchange and Sam flicked his eyes over at Doris who was ending the call and shaking her head. This idea was starting to sound worse and worse. The last thing Dean needed was a Geriatric Convention while he was bleeding to death.

"I know what you're thinking, Sam" Doris said knowingly, seeming to read his thoughts, "But he was a fantastic doctor in his day, the best surgeon I ever knew and he'll help. This is still a good idea."

Sam focused his eyes back on the road and pressed the accelerator down to the floor.

Harvey and Mable lived in a little farmhouse on the outskirts of town and Harvey's "outpatient clinic" ended up being a pretty nice set up in an old dilapidated barn that had half fallen in on itself. Harvey met them at the head of the driveway and Sam noticed Mable standing at the front door of the farm house in her housecoat and slippers watching them but not having time to spare on wondering why she didn't come out to meet them with Harvey, Sam rounded the pickup and opened the door to help Doris step down onto the gravel. When he reached back in for Dean, his brother had woken back up.

"Sammy?" He called out, confused and disoriented

"Right here Dean, Harvey's going to help you."

Harvey was dressed in jeans and button down that was slightly askew. Whether due to old hands or his haste to dress before they arrived, he'd missed a few buttons and put others where they didn't go and the whole mess made him looked disheveled and confused. But whatever his outward appearance might be, he looked Sam over with aged but intelligent eyes as he struggled to get Dean down from the pickup's high seat. Neither older adult was strong enough to help him, but Doris was at the ready when Dean slid out, his blood sending him slipping across the leather of the bench seat and Sam caught him beneath the armpits and Dean cried out in pain. The pills had had a while to kick in, but they weren't doing enough. They never did.

Sam walked Dean over to an old dining room table acting as an exam table in the middle of the barn and tried to fight back the rising uncertainty the place brought out of him. Harvey had the barn done up pretty well and it looked relatively clean but if the authorities had been through here, Sam was pretty sure Harvey would have done some serious jail time. But Dean was still bleeding and this was still their best and only option. Sam helped his barely conscious brother up onto the table and Dean passed out almost instantly.

Sam watched Harvey move in right away to assess his brother, the old man's yellowed eyes flickering almost immediately to the tattoo near Dean's heart. He looked up at Sam with the stethoscope poised over his brother's chest.

"You boys are hunters?" Harvey asked in a cracked voice that sounded as old as he looked.

"Excuse me!?" Sam asked dumfounded. What was with the universe lately.

Harvey nonchalantly reached his arm over Dean to take Sam's hand and place it firmly over a pile of gauze he had placed over the ragged and bleeding edges of Dean's incision. Sam applied pressure without thinking and his brother didn't stir.

"You're friend's mark, it's an anti-possessing tattoo." Harvey said calmly, getting an IV near the table ready with shaking hands like what he'd just said didn't mean anything and Sam didn't know quite what to do.

"You know about hunters Harvey?" It was Doris who asked.

"Ran into one years ago at the hospital. What'd you guys give him for pain?"

"He's got a prescription for Tylenol 3." Sam managed, finally finding his voice. "We gave him three about 15 minutes ago."

"Harvey, if you know about hunters, why didn't you say something about what's been going on in town?" Doris asked, staring at her friend with wide eyes.

"Really Doris?" Harvey tried to laugh but it came out as more of wheeze as he bent close to Dean's hand and tried to start the IV. "Who's going to listen to a 88 year old man going on about supernatural hullabaloo? Besides, I called my friend and let him know what's going on but never heard back."

Sam was still speechless but the shock was starting to wear off and he watched Harvey struggle with his quaking hands to get the needle into Dean's veins and he knew what he needed to do.

"Doris, will you take over here for me?" Sam asked quietly and she came over to replace her hands with his. He circled the table and came up beside Harvey.

"May I?" He asked, gesturing toward the needle in Harvey's hand.

"Know your way around an IV, son?" Harvey's eyes were old but expressive and Sam's anxiety at the whole situation eased minutely.

"Done this enough times to be an expert at it, Sir." He said, trying to put respect behind the words. This man was sticking his neck out for them and though he was older than dirt (as Dean would say), Sam could tell he cared.

"Hands just aren't what they used to be." Harvey replied, looking down at his age lined hands. "Did you know I performed surgery on Mayor Giuliani when I was still practicing and he was in office? God that was back in '94 just before I retired." Sam gave an interested nod then positioned the needle against the side of Dean's hand, sliding it home into one of his brother's veins.

"There, all done," Harvey took back over and adjusted the drip then put his attention back to Dean's still bleeding incision.

"He's O neg. you said?" He asked Sam.

"Yeah, do you have any blood here?"

"No, can you give?"

"Yeah, we've done it before."

"Alright. Let's see what we've got." Doris stepped away and Harvey pulled the completely soaked gauze back from Dean's chest with gloved hands. The skin was torn and angry red and blood welled up and out with every pump of Dean's heart and Sam fought back the urge to be sick. The bruises on Dean's chest were a mass of colors, all sickly purples and greens and yellows and it was the first time Sam and really gotten a good look at his brother in unmuted, unforgiving light. He was a mess and the spirit had made it worse.

"He just had surgery." Sam said suddenly, thinking it best to give Harvey a history "They went in to get bone fragments from broken ribs." Harvey looked up and over at him with that.

"Why isn't this boy in a hospital?!" He asked, shock filling his old eyes and he looked back and forth between Sam and Doris.

"We couldn't risk it," Sam admitted, hanging his head. "The thing that attacked him... it's still out there."

He could feel the heat of Harvey's gaze on him and the colossalness of the past few days weighed him down, threatening to buckle his knees. Sam had no defense against it and he half expected to hear the old man say he was calling the cops and he waited for the rebuke he could feel forming in the air around him.

"Son," Harvey said, pulling Sam's eyes back up from the ground to take the inevitable beating, "there's sutures in that drawer over there. Will you bring me what you can find?"

Sam stared at Harvey for a moment, surprised by his words but rather than risk him changing his mind at the last second, Sam obeyed quickly and brought everything along with him he thought might be needed. Harvey put a set of half moon glasses on the tip of his nose and started assessing Dean's damage. He slipped into some kind of surgical mode then and although Sam had almost objected when he began to close up Dean's incision, he watched Harvey work with steady and quick hands, the surgeon that used to be emerging before their very eyes. A half an hour later the incision had been reclosed and a pristine new white bandage covered it.

"He tore the muscle pretty good but I did some subcutaneous sutures and shored up a few blood vessels. It looked worse than it was." Harvey said, slipping his blood covered gloves off and throwing them in a bin beside the table. He checked Dean's vitals with an ancient stethoscope and blood pressure cuff one more time then, seemingly satisfied with his work, crossed his arms over his chest and let out a low whistle.

"Shit," He said seriously, "that was intense!" Doris laughed and Sam couldn't help but join in.

"Do you think he needs blood?" He asked after the moment passed.

"I don't have the equipment here to really monitor this type of injury, Son, but I think giving him a boost would be better not doing anything."

Sam agreed and they set him up to fill a blood bag with as much as he could spare. They got Dean hooked up properly, Harvey adding a bag of antibiotics into the mix, and then all there was left to do was wait. Dean remained unconscious on the table while the three other adults stood around unsure of what to do with themselves or with each other now that the drama had passed. Harvey eventually procured a couple of ancient folding chairs from one of the stalls and they sat in a circle talking aimlessly while they let the medicines and the blood do their work on Dean until the sun started to fill the barn with light. Every so often Harvey would get up slowly from his chair and walk on rheumy joints to check on Dean's vitals and his brother thankfully remained stable. Sam, on the other hand, sat in nervous anticipation waiting for the other shoe to drop. Their normal Winchester luck mandated that every possible thing go wrong on a hunt and while not everything was going according to plan night now, they still had managed to walk away from some pretty serious shit. Dean was doing alright after his second encounter with the spirit and Sam was just waiting for something to go wrong. It was hard to sit back and try to chat with his new found allies when all his brain could do was throw scenarios at him of how Dean didn't survive this.

While in the grand scheme of things this hunt had no bearing on if the world kept spinning on again tomorrow, Sam's thoughts still kept going back to the conversations he'd had with Dean, both the one in the parking lot and then again in the bunker's kitchen. There were still some massive issues that they had to work through, but the part about not being brother's, about working the hunts and taking their relationship out of the equation... well that was all just bullshit. If Dean were faced with death at this very moment, Sam knew he would move heaven and earth to save his brother, just like Dean would do for him. No, he loved Dean and they were brother's till the end.

"Sam, honey, are you alright?" Doris asked as Harvey got up to check once again on Dean.

"I'm fine," he lied, trying not to let the emotions he was feeling in that moment telegraph across his face. "Just tired."

"Yeah, that was one heck of a wakeup call we got this morning, wasn't it," She said half with a shudder and half with a sad smile.

"I'll say," Sam nodded, smiling back at her. "I can think of only a handful of hunts we've been on where a ghost actually possessed someone. It's pretty rare and I'm just glad it didn't kill him."

"I don't think I'll likely get that image of his white eyes out of my head any time soon," Doris confessed.

"Imagine fighting against the things in your nightmares every single day and then imagine trying to lead some semblance of a normal life around that. That would pretty much sum up our lives over the past 20 years." Doris' head snapped up to study him for a moment but she didn't say anything and Harvey came back to their circle.

"He's stable and responding well. I think he's gonna be fine. No signs of anything internal going on."

"Thanks for doing this for us, Harvey." Doris said, giving her friend a warm smile. "It means a lot."

"As long as you don't tell Robert about anything you saw, consider us square."

"You got it sport." Doris laughed.

"Harvey, you said you met a hunter back at the hospital. What was his name?" Sam asked after Harvey managed to sit his old bones back down into his chair.

"Name was Rufus. I called him up when stuff started going down in town, but he never responded."

"Rufus Turner?" Sam asked.

"That's the one."

"Yeah, he died a few years back now," Sam said thinking back on the crotchety old hunter who would sooner feed you to a wood chipper then be your friend.

"Well that's too bad. He helped my Mable out of a pickle, too... you boys looking into the murders then?"

"Yes, Sir. We are."

"Shame about Abraham, Doris. I'm sorry it happened." Harvey said, giving his friend's knee a pat. Sam had almost forgotten that Doris had lost someone and he felt bad they hadn't done more to help her.

"I'm still reeling from it, Harv. Kinda been following these boys around hoping to help them take down whatever's doing this to Oriskany."

"You guys have any leads?" Harvey asked Sam.

"No we..." Sam was interrupted by the barn door slamming open, a shaft of light appearing at his feet. Mable, Harvey's... something or other, it had never really been said... rushed in.

"There's been two more deaths!" She shouted, looking pale and flushed all at once. "Two more children taken up to Jesus."

" _Maybe this was the other shoe._ " Sam thought to himself.


	13. More Than a Feeling

"Dean, honey, you've got to stay awake for this to work

_Please, don't do this_

I can't do this on my own, ya gotta give me a little help here

_Please, let me out, you've got to help me_

DEAN!" Dean jolted awake in the quiet of Doris' apartment and pierced the relative silence with a cry. It took him a moment, the memories of last night swirling around his brain with vivid confusion, but eventually he realized Doris was beside him and moping his brow with a cool cloth, pleading with him to calm down. He was half in and half out of a t-shirt that was soaked with his sweat and clinging to his skin with the perspiration that was running down his body in streaks.

He was back in Doris' apartment, that much he could tell, but he had no memory of how he'd gotten there and she was sitting on the bed beside him, trying to get his other arm out of the shirt. His first instinct was to strike out in his confusion, and he nearly did, but his arms were like dead weights at his side and he just didn't have the energy to lift them. He was breathing hard after coming so quickly out of the dream and each inhalation sent his ribs screaming and he had to press a tentative hand against the bones to support them as he gasped.

"What's going on?" He managed to croak out after several seconds. He was really starting to get tired of his voice constantly betraying him.

"Dean, honey, I've been trying to get you out of this shirt for the past 5 minutes but you keep blinking out on me. This is the third time you've asked me that question." She said, exasperated with him but with concern in her eyes.

"M'Sorry," he mumbled and tried to lift his arm.

Doris only sighed and shook her head

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Dean. I just need your help to get this off."

Dean felt a little of the grogginess fall away from him as his dreams receded and he focused his attention to Doris' hands as she helped him maneuver his arm out of the t-shirt, moving forward slightly so she could pull it up and over his head. He could tell he had strong pain medications in his system and that they were different than the stuff he'd had before. The world moved past in fast forward chunks that left him fighting the urge to be sick, but the meds kept the pain at bay for the most part and he was able to shimmy out of the shirt with Doris' help. His joints ached and there was a new pain at the base of his spine that hadn't been there before but he knew that the real pain was just out of sight, lurking. It was always lurking and he fought against the dread that was settling into the pit of his stomach.

He collapsed back onto the pillows and closed his eyes against the swaying sensation sitting up had brought and tried not to care that Doris was running the washcloth over his heated skin. He could feel fever simmering just below his surface but didn't have the energy to worry about why just yet. Dean was going to be an expert at being helpless before this was all over if that damn spirit had anything to say about it, and yet there was also something about Doris' gentle touch that had his mind calming and stomach settling a little. It was like she had this way of taking his revulsion at being taken care of and turning it into something that just... was. No name for it. No label. Just life, going on as it should. He tried to grab onto the feeling and make it stay.

"Doris, where's Sam?" He couldn't remember much of last night, of the past day really, but he imagined if some of the images he was able to sift through were true, it should have been Sam hovering over him with his brow furrowed in worry, not Doris.

"Oh honey, he wanted to be here when you woke up, but there were some things he just had to take care of in town. But he told me to tell you that he'd kick your ass if you tried to get out of bed before he got back." She smiled and Dean knew he should be annoyed at what she'd said, but he was just so damn tired anymore. He wasn't sure how much more of this constant pain and fuzziness he could take before it literally started driving him mad. This hunt was going to be the death of him and he and Sam had only just started to fix things back up between them.

_"You must let me go!"_

"What?" He popped his eyes open with a jolt to stare at Doris who looked over at him in confusion.

"What, Dean?"

"Did you just say something to me?"

"No, honey. " She answered with a shake of her head. "I didn't"

It was like his dreams kept trying to claw their way up into his reality and he ran a shaky hand over his face trying to get his damn insides to stop shaking. This must have been what she was talking about when she said he kept blinking out on her. Dean thankfully didn't see the endless blackness anymore every time he closed his eyes, but the spirit had left chaotic memories inside his head that he couldn't escape and they spent their time battering against his skull demanding to be inspected only he didn't have the strength or the courage to follow where they led. There were feelings too and they threatened to drown him every time they bubbled up between the flashes of images or the screaming in his head. He suddenly felt the overwhelming need for his brother. Sam would know what to do, would have some spell in his head or trick up his sleeve that would finally rid him of the thoughts in his head that weren't his.

_"No, please!"_

"Dean, are you alright?" He'd done it again and he opened his eyes to give her a small smile and a nod.

"Yeah, I'm just so tired." and he was. He was fighting just to keep his eyes open and that in itself brought bone weary exhaustion.

"It's to be expected after the night you just had." She said gently, brushing the washcloth under his chin to catch the droplets of sweat gathering there.

"I didn't hurt anyone did I?" He asked quietly, voice going unintentionally soft and cracked, with emotion choking in his throat as he eyed the Sam shaped hole in the drywall on the other side of the room. He couldn't remember anything from when the spirit had taken him over but he knew what it would have been capable of in his body. He was lucky they were all still alive. The spirit had been so angry and yet so sad... and he could imagine it would have been nothing for her to reach through his fingers and use them to pull the hearts out of the chests of the only two people left on the earth who gave a damn if he lived or died...

"No, baby, you didn't hurt anyone. Stop looking so sad." Doris put a hand to his face and if anyone else in that moment had done it he would have started to scream at how wrong it was that he was so weak, but instead of drawing out his anger, she pulled tears from him instead.

"I just hurt so fucking much," he didn't mean the curse or the tears that overwhelmed him in that moment but she wrapped her arms around him anyway and held him as he broke apart against her. It wasn't fair, he shouldn't have to be so heavy or carry the weight of memories that weren't even his and he cried for the pain and he cried for the hopelessness, at the Sam shaped hole in his heart, for the woman who constantly begged to be let out in his head and for the complete and utter frustration that came with it all.

Doris let him lose his tears in her, never letting go even though he shook with the weight of it all and let out anguished sobs with as much force as his broken body would allow until he was nothing but a deep dry well with nothing left in him to give anybody. He was hallowed out and scraped raw and the tears stung in what was open and exposed as they dripped down his face.

"It's alright my love, it's alright. I promise this isn't forever. Sam and I are going to get you through this and we'll stop what's happening here. Everything is going to be okay." She held him in the circle of her arms, the only thing keeping him from quaking apart completely, until unconsciousness pulled him back under and he lost himself in the dark again. It wasn't the terrifying emptiness that had been down in that basement with him but the deep sleep only breakdown could bring.

When his eyes opened again Doris was dozing in a faded old easy chair beside his bed that he'd never seen before and that she must have pulled from another room in the apartment. He shifted under the sheet she had pulled over him, still shirtless but glad of it as the cooler apartment air felt nice on his fevered skin though the shift in his weight brought the pain in his chest out full force. He tried to bite back a hiss when his broken bones and every one of his joints screamed out to remind him that the pain was still there and that even though he'd tried to shake it lose, he would never truly be rid of it. The spirit had run him all over town and his joints and muscles had paid the price even though his brain couldn't remember the event. It was an unnerving feeling having your body remember something your mind could not and he shook his head against the feeling and met Doris' eyes.

"You're awake," She said it quietly and he could tell something had changed between them. He could feel it, a shift in the fault lines and he didn't know how to feel about what she had seen.

"Doris... I..." but he couldn't find the words and she leaned forward to put a hand on his arm.

"I know, honey." He tried to smile, give her an indication that he was grateful to her for what she had done and equally grateful that she hadn't made him acknowledge what had happened out loud, but his chest chose that moment to flare out in pain again and he couldn't stop the cry that escaped this time. Doris jumped out of her chair then returned to his side a few moments later to drop two little pink pills into his palm. They didn't look anything like the stuff he'd been taking before and he looked up at her confused.

"What are these?"

"They're a gift from Harvey. We were running out of pain medication for you so he gave us something different. Don't worry," she said as his eyebrows raised, "it's mostly like what you were on before but a little different."

"Different?"

"Like 'homemade' different," she said with a coy smile. "Don't ask."

Dean couldn't help but laugh a little at the thought of Harvey cooking up his own pain medications in his barn though the laugh knocked about in his ribcage and sent a bolt of pain out from his center. He tried to hide the wince as he tossed back the pills and drained the water glass.

"So, Harvey runs an illegal outpatient clinic out of his barn and is Oriskany's own Walter White. I'm impressed." While he still felt a little awkward over his breakdown in front of Doris, the sleep and the release of emotions had left him feeling a little bit lighter as if some of the weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Now he just had to wait for the meds to kick and the pain to ease and then things could finally start getting better... They had to, right? There was nowhere left for him to go but up.

"How long was I asleep?" Dean asked after Doris took the glass from him then sat back down in her chair. It was covered in bunches of faded roses and was probably the most hideous thing he'd ever seen. No wonder she kept it out of sight.

"You've been out for about 6 hours. How are you feeling?

"Better," He answered honestly. "Has Sam checked in at all?"

While he had wanted Sam there earlier, he was glad now that his brother hadn't been around to see him cry. There had been so few times in their lives when they'd broken down in front of each other like that and Dean didn't think he could take the look of pity that would inevitably show up in Sam's eyes. His little brother wouldn't have meant any harm by it, but it still would have torn Dean apart. Doris wasn't looking at him like that yet and he thought maybe be was starting to understand what it was the universe had been thinking bringing this woman into their lives.

"Still with me, Dean?" Harvey's drugs were strong and quick and he hadn't realized he'd drifted again.

"I'm sorry Doris, what?"

"I said he checked in with me about an hour ago. He should be back soon."

"What's he doing?" He could tell the question caught her off guard and she chewed on her bottom lip while trying to decide on how best to answer him. He had an idea what the answer would be but he decided to wait and let her voice it before giving the new information space in his brain to be recognized and dealt with.

"Well, what do you remember about last night?" She was deflecting his question and he studied her for a minute, trying to decide if he should push the issue of Sam' whereabouts with her or not. He decided in the end to just roll with it. He'd get it out of her eventually. He was good at that.

"I remember waking up in the basement with Sam beside me. The spirit was gone but she left behind these memories in my head and I keep getting bits and pieces but nothing makes sense yet. I remember you suggesting we go to Harvey's so he could patch me up because the spirit had ripped my stitches somehow and then you guys were helping me get up but I passed out again then I think. Everything else before and after is just a blur."

"Sam and I did end up taking you to Harvey's, you'd lost a lot of blood and wouldn't let us take you to the hospital. Do you remember that at all?"

"Yeah," he replied, a fractured memory floating to the surface, just out of reach. "Her memories... she wasn't finished. I knew we couldn't risk it."

"Well, after we got you over to Harvey's and he was able get the bleeding under control, he reclosed the incision. You needed some extra stitches and then a blood transfusion after that, but Harvey said it looked worse than it was and that you were going to be sore but okay. I thought for sure she'd killed you when she used your hand to..."

"She did this to me!?" He asked with wide eyes, looking down at the bandage on his chest that was peeling away from his skin with his perspiration. Doris took a gentle finger and smoothed the edges back down. He could tell by her eyes that she hadn't meant to share that bit of information with him.

"She did," Doris answered a little sadly and Dean couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine at the thought of the close call. Doris saw the shiver and disappeared again, this time to her bedroom to bring him out a new shirt. It was a button down one and she helped him ease into it after she used her cloth to blot one more time at his fever slick skin. It wasn't ideal but it would do.

"What happened after Harvey patched me up?" he asked when she was finished and he'd eased himself back down onto the pillows. Harvey's drugs were pretty damn good except for the slight waves of vertigo he got every so often and the ever present joint pain that always seemed to throb in time with his heart at every juncture in his body.

"We let you get some rest then Sam and I brought you home in my pickup and managed to get you back up into the apartment." Dean had no memory of another trip up Doris' stairs and he cringed at the thought that Sam might have had to carry him up them... and he'd been stupid enough to think he could go no lower...

"I know what you're thinking Dean Winchester," Doris said with a wag of her finger when she caught his face fall, "but you can relax. Sam made a makeshift stretcher out of some old planks of wood that Harvey had laying around his farm and we got you up the stairs on that. It was genius really and Sam and I managed it together so don't go mourning your manhood just yet." He felt his cheeks color a little at the fact that he'd just been called out and Doris laughed.

"I  _knew_  that's what you were thinking!" Dean shook his head at her then got serious again.

"I'm running a fever," He said to pull the conversation back to last night. There was still something she wasn't telling him.

"You are." Her face went sober and the laugh died in her eyes. "101 last time I checked. Harvey pumped you full of antibiotics while you were over there and I've been checking your incision. It looks fine, no redness or swelling or anything, so I'm not really sure what's going on there."

"It could just be a reaction to something Harvey gave me," He suggested with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. It wouldn't have been the first time something like that had happened so there was no need to start worrying about some possible catastrophic internal issue getting ready to rear its ugly head, especially when he was trying to get a handle on his whole "nowhere else to go but up" thing.

"I don't see any reason for the fever. I guess we'll see what Sam thinks when he gets back and we'll try to keep you comfortable until then." Doris offered.

"You never did tell me where he is." She stopped and looked down at her hands and for a moment he was afraid she would tell him not to worry about it and wait till Sam got back, but he had a pretty good idea of what was going on so he pushed the issue this time rather than let it lie like she obviously wanted him to.

"There have been more murders, haven't there?" Doris didn't look up from her hands but nodded and Dean closed his eyes against the constriction in his chest.

"Kids again?"

"Two, one was three and the other was seven. They were found this morning and we heard about them when we were still over at Harvey's. Sam is out working with the sheriff's department and checking out the bed and breakfast again but last time I spoke with him he was going to be headed back here soon."

"So she left me in that basement and went off to kill more kids?" He asked with a shaky voice but Doris was shaking her head.

"No, Sam as a different theory."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Look, he's going to be here soon, would you please just wait for him? You two know more about these things than I do and I barely understood what he was trying to tell me to begin with. Please Dean, just rest until he gets back and then we can all deal with this together."

Dean thought about her plea but his head was abuzz with the possible reasons why things were happening the way they were and a thought came to him.

"Doris, did Sam leave that bag we found at the bed and breakfast here?" she looked back up at him sharply.

"He did," she said slowly, looking like she didn't want to lie but afraid to tell him the truth all the same, "but I think he wanted us to wait until he was here to open it in case there's something in it the spirit was latching on to."

Dean thought about that for a minute. Waiting for Sam made sense, but everything in Dean was telling him that the answers they needed were in that bag and that if he just opened it and looked inside he could help them unravel the truth about what was going on in Oriskany while Sam was out in the real world doing the part of the hunt he couldn't. Excitement ran hot through his veins and for the first time in weeks he felt strength coerce through his body. This was something he could do, some part of this awful mess he could control and contribute through.

"Doris, if there's one thing I'm sure of it's that she wanted that bag found. I'm guessing she's not going to try to kill anyone who opens it especially not after the lengths she went to to get it found." His argument was a weak one at best and if Doris had been a hunter she'd have hit him upside the head and called him stupid for even suggesting they open the bag without taking any precautions. But it was just too tempting.

Doris, not knowing any better, reluctantly agreed and got up from her chair to retrieve the bag from the dining room table where it sat inside a symbol Dean really couldn't make out from where he was lying. Doris stood for second with her hand on the bag eying the symbol and he pulled himself up higher on his pillows in case he needed to plead his case further, but the older woman just sighed and pulled the bag from the table. Dean half expected the universe to give them some sign that what they were about to do was wrong, but nothing happened and Doris came back over to the pullout. She placed the bag on Dean's legs then sat herself cross-legged on the foot of the bed so they could look at what ever came out together.

The bag was old and made of leather but had no distinguishing marks to give any indication at its age or who had owned it and Dean let Doris do the honors of pulling away the straps that kept the bag shut. She looked over at him one last time, her eyes questioning and unsure, but his anticipation had him throwing caution and years of experience to the wind with the eagerness to get the bag open and to see what was inside.

Doris turned the bag upside down and dumped its contents on the sheet between them. Hundreds of age colored letters began fluttering down from the open mouth of the bag and Dean stared wide eyed at the ancient loopy scripts, each envelope written in a different hand. The last object to fall from the bag was a small book and it fell with a heavy thud against one of his legs then flipped over to come to rest between them. It was ancient and a devil's trap was painted on its face in iridescent blood red ink. Dean stared at the book as the ground beneath them began to tremble and Doris let out a shriek.

Yeah, they should have waited for Sam.


	14. Walk on the Wild Side

"ARE YOU COMPLETELY INSANE?" Dean watched Doris scurry into the kitchen and away from Sam's fury.

"Relax, Sam! Nothing happened and as soon as I realized what was in the bag, we called you. No need to have a friggin' conniption fit! Besides, you're the one who left it here." Dean yelled back. The strain from the argument had his joints aching again and he rubbed at an elbow.

"I'm sorry, but did you just say 'nothing HAPPENED'? Am I the only one who felt the fucking  _earthquake_  a few minutes ago? What were you thinking, Dean!? Whatever was in that bag could have killed you!" Sam bellowed. "What could possibly ever have made you think it was a good idea to open that thing after a ghost used your bloody possessed hands to pull it out of a fucking hole in the ground!? Please Dean, tell me your thought process on this because I'm seriously about to steal these letters and that book and leave this apartment to finish this hunt on my own!" Sam's face was red, but Dean held his own.

"Jesus, calm down! There's no reason to think that that earthquake had anything to do with opening that bag, Sam. And besides, she wanted us to find the friggin' thing. If I ever once thought we were in any danger, I never would have opened it."

"And that's another thing!" Sam said, pointing. "You put Doris' life in danger too!" Doris popped her head back out of the kitchen at that.

"Do not use me for ammunition in this Sam Winchester. I'm just as much at fault for this as Dean. I let him talk me into opening it so if you're going to yell, yell at me, the one  _without_  the hole in her chest and a fever." Her words effectively shut Sam the hell up and he looked at Dean still red faced but with concern in his eyes.

"You're still running a fever?"

"Just a little one. It's not bad." He confessed, shooting an irritated glance in Doris' direction for calling him out.

"Is it your incision?"

"Not that I could tell."

"Let me see." It wasn't a question and not daring to argue, Dean pulled the still unbuttoned pieces of his shirt apart so Sam could see that the skin around his incision was fine. His brother had to lean in close, the bruises covering his chest making it hard to see anything properly and then Sam peeled back the bandage to check the stitches. Apparently appeased, Sam reapplied the gause carefully then sat up still eyeing Dean warily...

"It looks good to me. Great in fact. Harvey did a good job and I don't see any signs of infection."

"Doris and I were thinking that maybe it's just a reaction to something Harvey gave me last night. That's happened before, remember?" He didn't mean to use himself as an excuse to end the argument, but the wind had gone out of Sam's sails and he sat down on the bed beside Dean looking him over with a critical but concerned eye. They couldn't afford to sit around wondering where the mysterious fever had come from not when there were bigger fish to fry and seemingly satisfied with Dean's theory on the fever, Sam nodded before pulling himself back up from the couch.

"There's something you need to know before we get started on this," Sam said gravely and Dean looked up at his brother.

"What is it Sam?" Doris asked, picking up on Sam's demeanor.

"They found a body in the in space under the B&B's basement today. It was a woman they think, but the bones were so old they're having an anthropologist come out from the university in Utica to dig her up. They think the bones might have been there since around the time of the Revolutionary War."

"That's gotta be her, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter, ignoring the muscles in his chest that trembled and threatened a spasm. "You have to go and burn her bones, dude! This could be our chance to end this!" He could only hope that once they'd released the spirit the memories she'd left inside his head would go with her and he'd finally be free.

"There's more, Dean. There was a whole hidden room under that basement and I was able to climb down there this afternoon with the sheriff. There was a devil's trap and some other symbols I couldn't identify painted on the underside of the stone floor."

"A devil's trap?" Doris asked, confused.

"It's a symbol we hunters use to trap and contain a demon. If you get one in it, they can't escape until someone lets them out by destroying part of the trap or you exorcise it." Dean explained, still trying to process what Sam was telling them.

"Only it wasn't like any trap I've ever seen before." Sam added. "It was... ancient looking."

"You need to get back there and salt and burn those bones before they dig her up, Sam. We gotta stop her!" He rubbed at his chest when the pain flared again and his feet yearned to hit the ground running. They were so close to stopping her but Sam was just standing there with feet rooted to the floor and obviously not sharing in Dean's need for haste.

"I think there's more to this Dean then just burning her bones. We need to think this through first."

"What are you talking about Sam?" Dean asked in angry amazement.

"For starters, calm down and think about this for a second. I think the spirit was possessing you ever since the first time you went down into that basement. Do you remember me telling you any of this when you woke up after she left you last night?" Dean tried to calm himself down and sift through the confusing swirl of memories in his brain.

"I gotta admit, it's a little fuzzy up here, Sam," He replied, tapping a fingertip to his temple, "but I vaguely remember."

"That's okay. If she had been possessing you ever since that first day in the basement then there was no way she was around to kill those children in town."

"She could have been leaving and coming back to me?" Dean suggested, still trying to process what Sam was saying.

"How would she have gotten past the salt lines then, Dean!? I think she was just old enough and strong enough to stay in you even though we had warding up, but I had to let her out last night past the salt."

"Spell it out for me, Sam. What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I think she was trapped down in that basement for all those years somehow but that she wasn't alone." Doris gasped and Dean's eyes went wide. "And I think the construction work did something to the trap down there letting her and whatever else was down there with her, escape.

"You think its two completely different things doing this to people. Sam? Doris asked with fear in her voice

"It just a theory... we need more to go on."

"Well, then I suggest we get started on the plethora of information our mystery woman practically handed to us?" Doris said, waving her hands over the pile of letters and the book still on the bed between Dean's outstretched legs. Dean couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. No 70 year old civilian should be smarter than they were.

"Dean, Doris is right." Sam said decidedly. "We need to figure this out and get some kind of plan together before we do anything."

Dean had the overwhelming urge to talk Sam into going right that second to burn the bones but what his brother was saying made sense. They needed to go through the evidence they had right in front of them and make a plan. Besides, the spirit had wanted them to find the bag full of letters so they must contain something that would both help release her and stop whatever else was terrorizing Oriskany. He just prayed that the spirit would give them enough time to figure it out before making another move.

Everyone in agreement, Doris took back her place on the end of the pullout's mattress and Sam dragged one of the dining room chairs over next to the bed. The pile of letters sat on the mattress between the three of them like their very own miniature Mount Doom. Sam grabbed for the book first then opened it carefully on the sheet for all of them to see. The binding cracked precariously as Sam opened it then fell apart into a line of dust on the bed but the pages stayed intact and Dean let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. The book was in another language that looked to be Greek and they all stared down at it. The pages were filled with ancient script and intricate drawings and Dean's head started to pound. This was going to take forever.

"Yeah, I'm going to need to translate this." Sam said when silence filled the air of their triangle. "You guys start on the letters and I'll work the book."

Sam dragged his chair back to the table and settled in with his laptop and the book while Dean and Doris each reached for a letter. They were all old and faded and it seemed sacrilege to open letters that had to have been more than 250 years old (old enough to not even have stamps on them) and belonged in a museum but people were dying and the historic community would have to forgive them the faux pas. For good measure, Doris fetched them two letter openers (ok, his was a butter knife, but at least they were trying) and they set in to opening.

The first letter Dean found was from a soldier to his sweetheart back home in Virginia, talking about the great battle he was marching into to help the besieged Fort Schuyler. The next was also from a soldier, and the next and the next and by the fifth one he was dumfounded. The whole bag seemed to be filled with the final letters sent by the men of General Herkimer's relief force that had never made it any farther than the tavern in Oriskany. The letters seemed to be giving off a throb of capability, last words being powerful things, and he tried not to imagine what it would have been like to know that the last letter you wrote a loved one before you died never made it to them and had spent an eternity buried under the earth. They were lucky the whole town wasn't haunted. Dean looked up to see if Doris was feeling it too and saw that the older woman had tears in her eyes and was reading over her third letter. Rather than disturb her, he grabbed for the thickest letter in the pile and pulled away the cord it was wrapped in to finger it as he read.

A few lines into the letter his hands began to shake and a glance at the envelope he'd largely ignored had him calling for Sam.

"Uh, Sam. You've got to come over here and look at this." Too shaken to read it himself he passed the letter and envelope to Sam who's face went white from just the envelope.

"Oh my God."

"What is it!?" Doris asked, seeing both their faces.

Sam started to read.

 

_Oriskany, NY August 5, 1777_

_Sir,_

_I received the letter you did me the honour of writing me the 30th past. I have sought out The Men of Letters as you did beseech but have found them absent from these parts for many years. As my company moves to strike against the British forces attempting the seizure of Fort Schuyler this coming Marrow, we had no time to await your continued advice on our plight. Therefore Mr. Ashbourn and Mr. Simmons and I have sought the help of an old crone residing in the Valley near our road to Schuyler. Herein does lie my account of events._

_I did assist the old crone with a few Guineas towards enabling her in her task and she did procure for us the here contained book which I humbly pass to your hands for safe keeping. Having much of the same knowledge of these matters as you and other men of the Hunt in our acquaintance, I did trust her in her instruction and did accept the aforementioned book._

_As to the Account she gave me was thus: upon reading the passages so entomed will the Nocnitsa, the Child Eater, be drawn to and so bound within a woman of Five and Twenty years. Placed beneath the earth with symbols so drawn shall the daemon be trapped and our force free of its wrath. After three days time the woman may be saved and removed from her dark place 'neath the earth where the Nocnitsa shall forever more dwell, trapped in payment for her unholy sins._

_Through this instruction we did place a woman of the town dying of yellow jack and sealed our menace with her in the Earth. I have given two men of my company the errand of returning from the fight in three day's time to release our lady and return her to her family if she lives._

_In this action I have lost 4 men to the Nocnitsa and 5 young Oneida Indian children traveling hence with our company have befallen her evil before we did dispatch her._

_I humbly thank you for your efforts in assisting us and pray that your own continued pursuits against the campaign of evil are fruitful and that the acquired tome may assist you further in our common goal._

_I remain respectfully your servant,_

_Nicholas Herkimer_

 

It's addressed to Benjamin Franklin..." Sam finished, letting his hand with the letter fall to his side with his astonishment. Doris let out a choked gasp.

"They trapped her down in hole in the ground for 250 years with a fucking demon," Dean started, not really aware that he'd voiced the thoughts aloud, but the letter was knocking lose something inside him. If only he could see...

"She was just trying to get someone to find her bones and let her go... find the letter that explained what they did to her. She was trapped down there for so long and she was so desperate to be set free that she dragged back the only people who had come close to finding her... But she was too strong, too out of control and she killed them before she could make them see. They fled from her, so afraid, and they wouldn't stay where she put them and give her enough time to manifest herself and tell them what she needed. Then when I was down there with her, I started to crack the floor and she knew how close I was and managed to let go... but she hurt me so badly so she stayed down and hidden until she could reemerge and take me back to the basement to show me where she was. They just left her down there to die with that thing... and then it got out along with her and she knew she had to try and stop it but she was just so angry... Sammy..." He tried to pull himself out of the memory but the images were coming fast and sharp and he could feel himself reaching for his brother with groping blind hands.

"I'm right here Dean," Sam's hand wrapped around his wrist and Dean mirrored the action, throwing anchor and trying to fight his way back to shore.

"No one knew she was down there. The men, they promised everything would be okay...but then they went off to fight and no one came back for her and she was sick. God, she was so sick, Sammy. I was supposed to set her free..."

"Dean, honey, it's okay." Doris' words finally pulled him out of the visions and he sat panting with fresh tears tracking down his face and palm pressed to his chest.

"Are you alright?" Sam was looking at him with blatant fear in his eyes and he realized that their hands were still clasped together. Dean released his grip then sagged back into his pillows, exhausted from the onslaught of memories and weary to the bone. The ever present ache in his joints throbbed in time with his heart. "Where did you go just then, Dean?"

"Don't worry, Sam." He said when his vision stopped swimming and there was one Sam again instead of two. "I'm not possessed, it's just her friggin' memories, they're still in my brain... I can still hear her screams in my head. Sam, you've got to go back to that bed and breakfast and free her. She never should have been forgotten."

"I will Dean, I promise." Sam soothed and Dean realized he was trying to sit up in his agitation. His sternum gave a jolt of pain as if to remind him of where he was.

"But what about this demon, the... Nocnitsa that they trapped down there with her? What is that?" Doris asked with panic in her voice before Dean could press Sam further to go back to the b&b.

"I have no idea," Sam answered honestly, sitting back in his chair, but still keeping his eyes on Dean. "but that book we found in with the letters is in Ancient Greek. What some old crone in the mountains was doing with it, I haven't a clue, but I think it's a translation of something even older, like pre-Roman empire old. It's not like anything I've ever seen before and it's got some instructions in it for some seriously heavy stuff."

"Like what?" Dean managed to ask . God he was tired.

"Like black magic, human sacrifice stuff, but older. It's insane."

"Can we use it to help us fight against the demon?" Doris wondered.

"It's going to take a while to translate. As much as I fancy myself a Man of Letters these days, it's still written in Ancient Greek and I'm no expert." Sam said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. They were all still reeling from their discovery.

"Sam, I still think our first priority should be to burn her bones. At least we can set her free and then deal with whatever this Nocnitsa thing is that was trapped down there with her." Dean pushed again, rubbing his tired eyes and wanting nothing more than to be rid of the ever present foreign emotions still choking him. He ached with the burden of carrying them all and he was tired of it.

"And I hear you on that Dean but I'm going to have to wait until tonight at least. That place is swarming with cops and reporters right now." Sam explained.

Dean had almost forgotten about reporters. They must be having a field day with what was going on but that also meant that they were going to make finishing this hunt more difficult. Prying eyes never boded well for a hunt, especially one as delicate at this where children were dying and the longer they stood around twiddling their thumbs, the more of them might die. Dean flexed his muscles angrily, trying to shake lose some of the relentless achiness, and tried not to let his frustration and feelings of helplessness get the better of him.

"Is there any way we can talk you into getting some sleep, Dean?" Sam asked, catching the aborted stretch and his wince. "There is a lot of research to do here and nowhere to go until tonight. Besides, you look like death warmed over." Dean looked up sharply at the awful idiom and Sam had the decency to duck his head in amused apology.

Doris, apparently deciding it was a good idea, went into the kitchen then returned with more of Harvey's pink pills and some water. He accepted them both with one condition: he would sit quietly reading through the letters to see if they offered up any more information while Doris and Sam checked the internet and the library books to see if there was anything more to be found on their newly discovered demon. The conditions were agreed to and 20 minutes later sleep found him anyway and he tumbled over the edge into oblivion.

 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

 

When Dean pealed his eyes back open how ever many hours later it was still light outside the windows beside him but he could tell that dusk was not far away. Through the slits of his eyes he watched Doris and Sam with their heads together behind the laptop and couldn't help but smile at the scene. They were talking in hushed excited whispers and paying no attention to him and for the moment he was warm and pain free and he didn't dare move for fear of shattering the peace his body had found. But he was only delaying the inevitable and he shifted under the sheet and thin blanket that was covering him and managed not to cry out. He aches were still there but now they only throbbed instead of punched and he was relieved.

"Do you need more pills?" He looked back over to the table to find that Sam was watching him closely, the light from the laptop monitor casting strange shadows over his brother's face.

"Keep asking me that and you're going to have to check me into rehab next," He joked but Sam's face stayed grim.

"That's not funny, bro. Seriously, do you need more?"

Dean sighed.

"Nah, I'm okay for now. I'm mostly just sore from being stuck in this friggin' bed for so long." Sam got up from the table at that and Dean was immediately sorry he'd said anything. He tensed for the inevitable chick-flick moment.

"Your doc told me before we left the hospital that it would help your ribs to get up and around once you're incision started healing. I know we hit a little snag with the whole 'incision healing' part, but it  _is_ looking really good. Do you want to try getting up for a while?" Dean was shocked at Sam's suggestion but he had to admit the thought of getting up on his own two feet (though Sam would be sure to hover) sounded like a really great idea and Dean found his spirits perking up at the prospect of getting out of bed.

"Yeah, Sam. That sounds great!"

Sam helped him sit up all the way, his ribs still making that particular task impossibly painful, then Dean threw his own legs up and over the side of the bed on his own. The room spun a little but they gave him a moment to rest and eventually things settled back down. Dean was unsure of his legs at first, but Sam helped him get to standing and he surprised himself when they stayed underneath him though they shook under his weight, unused to holding him up. He bit back a retort when Sam didn't let go when he was ready to start walking forward but he eventually was able to push Sam away when he felt more secure and was sure he wasn't going to fall over. He made it to the bathroom on his own with little pain and only a few precarious wobbles on his unsteady legs then instead of letting Sam steer him back to the pullout, he pointed them the direction of the kitchen table and he took one of the unoccupied chairs with a little help from Sam.

It felt fantastic, He was winded but his nap and the exhilaration from finally being out of bed made it all worthwhile. Sam thankfully didn't argue with his impromptu decision and went back to his own chair without comment but kept his eyes firmly on Dean watching for any signs of discomfort. He was feeling pretty damn good and he wasn't about to let Sam's worrying bring him down. The blackness was gone, their spirit's memories had been quiet in his head while he'd slept and he was sitting up in a chair for the first time weeks. As if sensing his good mood, Doris smiled at him and patted his arm then informed him she had more homemade soup in the freezer and that she would be making them some to eat. Dean's stomach grumbled loudly at the mention of the soup and he found he was ravenous.

"Did you guys find anything while I was asleep?" He asked his brother, chewing on an apple Doris had gotten for him to tide him over until the soup was ready. If he didn't slouch or lean too far forward to much, he was pretty comfortable at the table.

"This book is insane Dean and Doris found some info on the Nocnitsa online. She's generally found in Polish lore, but we found some Russian and Slovakian mentions of her too. She's a demon who feeds mostly on children during the night."

"Kind of like a Shtriga?"

"Yeah, but instead of being an Albanian witch, she's an actual demon, kind of like an older nastier version of what we dealt with when we were kids and then again a few years back. I wouldn't be surprised if the Shtriga took their inspiration from this thing. She sits on the chests of the kids and feeds off of them kind of like a vampire until they eventually die. She'll go after adults too but only if she thinks they pose a threat or are strong enough to stop her."

"Then we're lucky she hasn't come after one of us yet."

"Tell me about it. They're nasty demons too, Dean, one of the more primal types, not ones for conversation. They don't often possess people either, just attack in their natural form when the child is sleeping."

"Creepy."

"And hard to kill. We're still working on that part. Lore says you can smell moss and dirt when she's around." Remembering the Shtriga that they had faced all those years ago and thinking of facing its more powerful demon counterpart had Dean shuddering.

"What does the book have to say about it? Have you been able to make heads or tails of it?"

"Actually, I did. I think what the General and his men did was use a summoning ritual from the book to call the demon into our mystery woman while she was under the devil's trap then used a spell to bind the demon in her for three days. When the three days were up the spell would expel the demon from the girl and she would be able to escape but the demon would stay trapped under the symbols. Only no one who remembered she was down there survived the Battle of Oriskany and she died. General Herkimer's letter said that she was sick already, she probably didn't last very long down there in that blackness.

"Why didn't these guys just exorcize the demon when it was in the girl? Why leave her in that hole in the ground like that?"

"I don't think they knew what they were doing. This was almost 250 years ago. Herkimer obviously had some kind of supernatural training from Benjamin Franklin but didn't know how to deal with the Nocnitsa. When the Men of Letters weren't around to help for whatever reason, they took some old book from some shady 'old crone' and tried to take care of it themselves as they best they could. The crap in that book is old, Dean. I don't think whoever wrote it had even figured out that you could exorcise demons yet, just bind them. We've seen firsthand what happens when people who don't have all the facts start messing with this stuff. Some poor woman paid the price for it this time and now there are 6 people dead because of how colossally stupid these men were."

Dean sighed.

"Ok, assuming that's how all this went down, why hasn't she been trying to get people to free her for years? Why did this happen now?"

"I thought about that and the devil's trap that they used wasn't like anything I've ever seen before. The book has the drawing for it in here and based on what I translated I think it's designed to hold everything, even ghosts and my guess is that her spirit got trapped in it somehow along with the demon's after she died. When the construction work began on the bed and breakfast, it must have done something to the trap and released them both and she started trying to get people to find her bones and release her and the Nocnitsa started feeding on the kids in town. We just didn't know about the new threat until the children started dying."

"If you told me a week ago that I would be trying to release a trapped vengeful spirit who spent the last 250 years stuck in an ancient devil's trap with a demon who was put there by Revolutionary War soldiers who got some hunting training from Benjamin Friggin' Franklin, I would have called you crazy and probably committed you. What a mess."

"Well, when you put it like that..." Sam said with a smile and was about to go on but Doris interrupted them to put a bowl of soup in front of each of them along with a plate of grilled cheese and chicken sandwiches in the middle of the table between them. Dean was famished and he set in to devour his food but found he could only manage a little before his stomach started rolling and threatening to send him back to the bathroom to puke. He pushed the bowl away and Doris saw him do it.

"What are you doing about the diner, Doris?" He asked to draw her attention away from the fact that he wasn't eating.

"I told people in town I was going to stay closed for a while on account of Abraham. Everyone seemed to buy it." She replied, eyes turning sad.

"I'm really sorry about Abraham, Doris." Sam said and Dean fought against a wave of anger that tried to push up and over him. The thought of all the people that had died so far was setting his blood to boiling and he let his fist fall hard on the wood of the table. Sam and Doris both looked over at him.

"Guys, we need to start thinking of a plan. This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better and now we have a vengeful spirit and a demon to take care of. It's time to clean house." He knew his voice sounded tired and there was little power left in him to rally Doris and Sam behind him properly , but there were children dying and spirits to avenge and Dean Winchester was not about to sit around and let more people die.

_"Not on my watch."_


	15. Blue, Red & Grey

Dean wasn't eating, Sam noticed it just as Doris did but while she was distracted by his brother's question about the diner, Sam wasn't so easily fooled. He had been so close to insisting that Dean go back to the pullout after their wobbly trip across the apartment but now that Dean was actually up and participating his color was improving a bit, his mood was better, though ever since he'd made his demand that they get moving on the hunt, it had been steadily going downhill, but at least his incision was healing nicely. Harvey had done a really good job as far as Sam could tell and the only lingering effect of the spirit in Dean seemed to be the memories.

Sam knew his brother was struggling with the images and emotions that the spirit had left behind in him last night and that they were giving him nightmares that made his sleep choppy and unrestful. It wasn't unheard of for victims of possession to retain some memories of what had happened to them but Dean seemed to be getting the full force and effect. Then there was the matter of the fever. Neither he nor Doris could figure out why Dean still had fever bright eyes, a steady sheen of sweat on his brow or why he seemed to be holding steady at 101 degrees. There was no reason for it. His chest was still a disturbing mix of colors but they were already starting to fade and Dean hadn't had any of those debilitating muscle spasms for a while. He'd looked on the verge of one a few times, but they never came and the coughing was gone as well. His incision wasn't red or inflamed around the edges indicating infection and he didn't appear to have any pain except for his broken bones and Harvey's homemade concoction was helping there. Dean had, however, suffered some major internal injuries (and they'd taken him out of the hospital way too soon) and there was always the possibility something was going on internally that they just couldn't identify yet and that thought had Sam constantly eyeing his brother and watching for signs of trouble. Still, Sam couldn't deny that sitting up was doing his brother some good. Dean had that look in his eye he always got when he was ready for a fight and his brother was never happier than when his hands were busy and there was some problem in front of him to solve. It was when Dean let his perpetual motion slow that he seemed to get himself into the most trouble and Sam was almost willing to set his worry aside except for the fact that Dean had pushed away a 3/4 full bowl of chicken noodle soup and Dean refusing food was a sure sign that something was off.

"Are you not hungry?" Sam asked and Dean popped up his head to look at him sharply. Caught cha.

"M'fine, Sam." Speaking in grumpy contractions, strike one.

"Do you need more pain meds?"

"No, I'm okay for now," Downcast eyes, no eye contact, strike two.

"Are you sure?" A nod and playing with this food, strike three, you're out.

"All right, spill it, what's the matter."

"Why does anything have to be the matter? I'm fine, Sam. Drop it."

"Nope, sorry Dean. This is way too important for you to go downplaying what's going on with you. I know you want to get this thing, but if you expect to be a part of this hunt, we kind of have to keep you alive so you can do it." Sam watched his brother's face flit across several different emotions at once finally settling on annoyance as he looked up to meet Sam's eyes again angrily.

"I'm OK, Sam. If there was anything wrong I would tell you, so enough with the twenty questions."

"Damn it, Dean, will just talk to me!? I can't help you get through this if you won't tell me what's going on with you!" The words tumbled out of him in his frustration and he didn't mean for them to sound so harsh but the worry for his brother and his anxiety over the impossible hunt they were faced with had him on edge. The last thing Dean needed was for him to hover, but that's all his worried mind seemed to want to do. There was no way, no fucking way he was going to watch his brother work himself back into the hospital.

"Fine Sam!" Dean exploded suddenly, startling them both. "You want to know what's going on inside my head so bad, then let me give you a run down: For starters I'm beyond tired, my joints ache like it's nobody's business and I want to take more pain pills but they make me so fucking tired (sorry Doris) and fuzzy. Then I want to get behind the wheel of my baby and go right this friggin' second to salt and burn the bones of the woman who's memories I can't get to stop running through my friggin' brain and then I want to go find the son-of-a-bitch demon that's killing kids! But I can't do all those things, can I, because my goddamn chest is broken, I can't use my left arm properly and these broken ribs are so agonizing I can hardly breathe sometimes and then to top it all off, my pain in the ass little brother wants me to stop every half hour or so to tell him how weak and miserable I am. I'm tired of it, Sam! I'm so fucking tired of it!" Dean punctuated his every point with a fist on the table that sent bowls and glasses clattering around the tabletop. Angry tears sprang to Dean's eyes but he was fighting them back with everything he had and Sam could tell his brother was on the verge of losing it again. He could kick himself for being so stupid.

Every time he opened his mouth anymore it all came out wrong. What his brother was going through was killing Sam too only he couldn't show it because Dean took his every attempt at helping him the wrong way and Sam could never quite say things the way they needed to be said. Doris had whispered to him about Dean's earlier breakdown and now Sam had sent him right back to the edge with his words and he knew if he pushed any farther in that moment, Dean would go tumbling over. He just couldn't make his brother go through that again and he stayed silent.

It was Doris who wrapped her arms around Dean and promised that everything would be okay and Sam watched her give his brother the comfort he just couldn't. It was easy to help Dean when he was semi-conscious and bleeding out on the floor but when Dean was awake...well, if Sam had tried what Doris was doing now he would have been immediately rebuffed and Dean would have pushed everything back down least they get themselves into another chick flick moment. Doris, however, was showing her true power once again, talking Dean down and keeping him stitched together where Sam couldn't. There was a time, so many long and painful years ago, when Sam could work that same magic on Dean himself, but those days were long gone, trampled under the weight of too many hard years and too many stupid fights, and this new version of himself that seemed to be okay with the fact that he'd lost something fundamental with brother. Yet it wasn't just him who had changed. Dean was different too and Sam wished he knew how to fix this chasm between them. Maybe then they would stop finding themselves in moments like these, unable to trust one another.

Doris was speaking gently to a slowly calming Dean who nodded at a question he was asked as Doris helped him rise from his chair. Leaving cold soup and sloshed water on the table, Doris lead Dean back to the pullout and he collapsed with a weary smile while Sam sat tightly coiled at the table unsure of what to do. Sam watched Doris get Dean settled before his brother closed his eyes and fell asleep almost instantly. When she came back to the table Doris plopped back down in her chair and let out a tired sigh. Sam sat picking at his sandwich, not sure of what to say or even how he felt in the moment.

"Sam, I'm sorry," Doris said suddenly and Sam looked up at her, confused. What could she possibly have to be sorry about?

"I feel like I overstepped my bounds here. With Dean just now. You're his brother, it wasn't my place."

"That's just the thing, I don't think it was mine either," he answered truthfully averting his eyes when she looked over at him. "If I had tried what you just did with him, he would have been pushing me away for sure. I don't know how to help him."

Doris didn't say anything so he went on.

"For as long as I can remember he's done everything he can to hide any hint of weakness from me, but there used to be a time when it wasn't like that, when he used to let me in." He was spilling his guts to her again, but he didn't mind. The anger and frustration at the whole situation was threatening to reach up and choke tears out of him too and Doris just seemed to be able to pull crap out of him like a magician with her hat and rabbit.

" I know it's mostly my fault, we've been drifting apart even before our showdown back home, but now that he needs me, I can't seem to get us back to where we were. It all comes out the wrong way and then we fight. What do I do, Doris?"

"Kid, I have never met two people who were so close together yet so far apart at exactly the same time. You two fight against unimaginable evil every day of your lives and you  _defeat_  it, yet you can't see what you've got right in front of you. Sam, you two have the ultimate weapon against anything the universe could ever throw at you but you're so wrapped up in your issues that you're missing it. There's no stronger force on the face of this earth then love and family and you've let that power slip through your fingers. Talk to your brother. Give him the comfort that's in your heart and then let the cards fall where they will. You gotta stop fighting what's in your nature and let the fear and anger go Sam, it's only holding you back and once you've done that there's no evil in the world that can stop you and your brother." She was delivering a sermon, preaching with the best of them and a part of Sam was angry at her for thinking she knew them enough to pass judgment, but the rest of him was angry that she was absolutely right.

"Both of you have made mistakes, but it's time to get over it."

"You're telling me I need to let it all go?"

"I'm telling you the same thing I said back at the hospital when all this started, stop wasting your big revelations on me and start telling them to your brother. Talk to him. Find that trust that you lost and everything will work out in the end."

"How can you be so sure?" Doris threw her head back and laughed.

"Beats me! I know it the same way I know we were supposed to find each other in this Sam Winchester."

"How do I start... you've seen what happens when I just try to talk to him about what's going on with him... let alone start addressing what's happened between us."

"Well, for starters next time don't start trying to get him to open up to you while he can barely sit up straight and secondly, be patient. These things don't happen overnight." It almost felt like his turn to be taken into her arms to cry out all his sins, but he fought against it. There was too much to do and too little time to do it in so he cleared his throat and wiped away the moisture that had gathered at the corners of his eyes.

"Alright, we need a plan."

"That's my boy," she said with another laugh. "What do you want me to do?"

"I'm going to need some supplies. We're running low on salt and fuel and I'm going to need enough of each to make sure every part of that space under the bed and breakfast burns. I need to make sure we get every bit of that woman's remains for Dean's sake."

"I can do that easy enough. Anything else, boss?" She said with a wink and a smile.

"Actually, would you mind checking in with the sheriff for me while you're out? I want to get some more translating done on that book. It might have something in it that can stop the demon."

"You got it. Promise me you'll call if he wakes up or needs anything?" Doris asked, gesturing toward Dean with her head.

"Promise," Sam agreed and Doris jumped up from her chair and wrapped him in a hug. He stiffened at first. She was the first person in a long time to do that to him and at first he didn't know how to react but then his shoulders relaxed and he returned the embrace, sniffing a little when she pulled away.

"If God had seen it fit to give me children, I would hope the good Lord would have had the sense to give me boys like you two." She said quietly and grabbed her winter coat from a peg inside the front door and was gone before Sam could respond.

He sat in the wake of her confession and tried not to let his emotions get the better of him. What had they done to deserve Doris' help? He was so used to the universe giving them the bird that to find help in a 70 year old woman with a penchant for calling them out on their bullshit had him baffled. Sam looked over at Dean and had to fight back the urge to wake his brother up and tell him what had just happened between him and Doris, but she was right. He wasn't going to fix things with Dean over night so he pulled the pages of the devil's trap book towards him and tried to get back into translating.

It took a while but eventually he got himself into a rhythm and for about an hour he managed to stay focused. He stumbled onto a great website that was making the translation go a lot quicker, but before Sam knew it his eyes were drooping and the screen was blurring in front of him. He hadn't exactly gotten a lot of sleep over the past few days and the weight of what they were dealing with wasn't the easiest thing in the world to bear. Telling himself he would only close his eyes for a moment, Sam followed after his brother into oblivion.

His catnap didn't last long and before the events of the day could form dreams in his mind, a moan from over on the pullout pulled Sam from sleep. Dean was stirring and Sam shot up out of his chair and went over to his brother's side to check what was wrong. Dean hadn't woken up, but he was thrashing his head back and forth in his fevered dreams and was soaking the bed sheets.

Crap.

Sam grabbed for the thermometer still on the table beside the couch and coaxed Dean into closing his lips around it. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Sam rested a hand on Dean's chest, careful of his stitches and was surprised when his brother calmed a bit beneath his hand. Sam thought back on Doris' words and studied his brother. Maybe she was right? Maybe what he'd thought they'd lost forever was still there, he just had to have the nerve to do what was in his nature. Trying his newfound brashness on for size Sam left his hand where it was, spread his fingers out as far as they would go and felt his brother's heart beat beneath his palm. Dean's dreams seemed to recede and then his brother let out a barely audible contented breath of a sigh. He could almost imagine Doris standing behind him giving him a round of applause until he chased the thought away by reminding himself of how Dean would have reacted to what he'd just done if he were awake.

The thermometer beeped and Sam squinted to read the numbers on the small display. 101.9. The fever was going up. Sam checked Dean's incision again, careful to be gentle and not wake his brother, but the wound looked really good. It showed all the signs of early healing and he tried to think of some other source for the fever. Dean had suggested that maybe he was having a bad reaction to something Harvey had given him, but that was almost 13 hours ago now and surely anything that was bothering him would be out of his system by now. He felt like Dean was teetering on this invisible edge and any small wind was going to send him sprawling over the side of it. What was at the bottom of the ravine was anyone's guess.

"Ya finished Florence Nightingale?" Sam looked up from the thermometer with a start and met his brother's gaze. Dean looked haggard and beyond exhausted and the lines on his face were deep like they always were when he was in pain.

"Yeah, I'm finished." Sam replied, ignoring the jab. He wasn't about to apologize if Dean had been awake for what he'd just done.

"Look Dean, I'm sorry I upset you earlier. I know how frustrating all this is for you."

Dean stayed quiet, studying Sam with his tired eyes and he was about to push off the couch to go in search of a fresh bandage and Dean's medication when his brother spoke.

"This is really hard for me, Sam, not being able to get around like I need to... dealing with what the spirit left in my head."

"I know it is, Dean."

"And the one thing that makes it almost unbearable is when you look at me with that pity in your eyes like you're feeling sorry for me. Sometimes I just can't take it Sam. It's not how it's supposed to be." Sam sat blinking at Dean, not really sure what to make of his brother in that moment. Sam put his hand back on Dean's chest and his brother didn't flinch away.

"It's not pity that you're seeing, Dean and it's not me feeling sorry for you. It's my frustration at the fact that  _I_  can't stop what's happening to you. You're my brother and I'm not supposed to just accept that you're hurting, I'm supposed to fix it."

"But do you understand that I'm never going to be truly comfortable with this?" Dean asked, placing his own hand over Sam's and gripping it tight. "Our whole lives it's been my job to protect you from everything and I don't think there's any way I am going to be able to change that, Sammy."

"Dean, all I want is for us to be able to trust each other again. There was a time when we could rely on each other and I want that back."

"I do too, Sam but it's never going to be like it was," Sam pulled his hand away at that and looked at the floor. "Don't shut me out Sam, not yet. Just let me get this out.

I know why you said what you said that night in the bunker. What I did with Gadreel... it wasn't fair to you. You had a shot at saving the world and then being done with all of this, but I couldn't let you go little brother. Maybe it was selfish of me and maybe I shouldn't have done it but love makes you do funny things Sam and..." but before Dean could go on the front door opened suddenly and Doris came bursting into the apartment with a blast of cold air on her heels, shattering the moment. Dean yanked his hand away and Doris spun around to block the door and talk heatedly with someone outside on the stoop.

"You wait here, damn it, I want to make sure he's decent and ready for a visitor. Good heaven's Robert!" Slamming the door closed she spun around to face them.

"It's the sheriff, Sam. He won't listen to reason and wants to get Dean's statement about what happened back at the bed and breakfast. I couldn't hold him off any longer. I'm so sorry!"

"Shit," Sam swore, standing up and looking around the room at the symbols covering the walls and the very visible salt lines. The sheriff was going to take one look at all this stuff and flip out and that was exactly what they didn't need right now. In his panic he did not expect to hear Dean's calm voice.

"Guys, relax. I may be beat to hell, but there's nothing wrong with my brain. Let him in Doris, I've got this."

"Dean, you're in no condition to give him a statement right now. You're still running a fever."

"Sam, it's okay." Sam eyed his brother and opened his mouth to protest but shut it again and thought on what his brother was saying. This was Dean they were talking about, master manipulator, fastest mouth in the Midwest. He could handle some two-bit small town sheriff with his eyes closed, even injured and doped up on pain meds. Sam couldn't help but smile.

"You sure about this, Dean?" He asked just to be safe and his brother looked over at him with confidence in his eyes and Sam tried to soak up some of the enthusiasm. He knew what Dean was capable of and had every confidence in him but the fever was still disconcerting.

"I can do this Sam. Let him in."

"Alright, Doris," Sam said, walking over to take his seat at the dining room table behind the laptop. "Let Sheriff Zerbak in."

Doris looked back and forth between the two of them and looked like she had something to say but instead of arguing she shrugged her shoulders and opened the door. Outside on the stoop under the cover of darkness stood a very cold and pissed off sheriff and Sam saw Dean shift a little on the pullout out of the corner of his eye like he was steeling himself for battle or something. The sheriff barged in past Doris and Sam watched as the man's face went from angry to bewildered as he took in the warding drawn on the walls.

"You like my work sheriff?" Dean asked sarcastically from the bed. Doris maneuvered a hideous easy chair covered in roses over to the side of the pullout and the sheriff took a seat. "I had a bad reaction to some of my medicine they gave me at the hospital. Apparently I went a little nuts and redecorated for Doris. My partner over there is going to get us some paint so we can fix it, aren't ya Sam?" Sam nodded when the sheriff looked over at him then he went back to looking busy and detached behind the laptop. Dean was going to have to be crass with the sheriff to throw him off their scent and to protect him from the forces at work no small town sheriff couldn't possibly fathom and Sam almost felt sorry that Dean had to do what he was about to do.

"So what can I do you for sheriff?" Sam knew Dean well enough to know that he never got sick of using that line. It was Deanism, if there were such a thing.

"I went looking for you at the hospital to take your official statement after all this happened and they told me you signed out AMA. Then your partner here has been telling me you're too sick to be bothered but you seem alright to me." Zerbak said gruffly.

"Hey thanks sheriff! It's nice to know you've been asking after me. I'm feeling pretty good today so if you want to do that statement now, I'm all for it." The sheriff seemed flustered at Dean's apparent lack of concern for what he felt was a serious situation and Sam hid a smile. Dean was going to give this guy a run for his money and was hamming it up perfectly.

Sam hadn't been dealing much with the sheriff lately, he'd been utilizing the deputies for information more than anything. The sheriff had been busy trying to avoid a town wide panic over the children's deaths and then the coroner's reports had just been released and now he was trying to stave off the riot that was threatening to erupt. The reports were saying that the children died of natural causes and the townspeople weren't buying it. They wanted answers and there were none to give and Sam almost felt sorry for the poor guy. Then on top of everything else there was a renewed interest in the town by the media who'd gotten wind of the additional deaths in Oriskany. Sheriff Zerbak was doing everything he could to keep things calm and hush hush and Sam couldn't blame him. Stuff like this could tear small towns like Oriskany apart, or bring its people closer together in the inevitable cover up because, on the other hand, conspiracy had a way of bringing towns together. It changed them into quiet, suspicious places where outsiders were never welcome again, but sometimes they stayed afloat.

"If you think you're up to it, then yes, I need to take your statement for our investigation."

"I'm happy to help, sheriff, fire away." The sheriff took a tape recorder out of his pocket and started to queue up the tape but, but Dean stopped him.

"Sheriff, I'm sorry, but agency protocol prohibits me from making an official recorded statement at this time. Our conversation will have to suffice." The sheriff stared at Dean for a beat with anger flashing in his eyes and he put the recorder away in a huff and pulled out a small notebook and pen instead.

"Look, just take me through what happened," Sam could tell Dean had the man right where he wanted him.

"Absolutely! I was interviewing the families of David and Samuel Briggs in Utica and returned back to Irving's motel about midnight. I put the tonight show on the tv and then fell asleep. Next thing I know I'm waking up in the hospital after having emergency surgery." Dean stopped abruptly, looked up at the sheriff with a look that said there was no more to say and Sam watched as the realization dawned on the sheriff's face that his interview was not going to go according to plan.

"So you're saying you have no memory whatsoever of what happened to you?"

"None, sir. It's so frustrating." Dean was hamming it up brilliantly and Sam had to remind himself not to laugh. Doris seemed to be amused as well and they avoided each other's eyes so as not to make each other smile.

"Well, as an agent of the FBI can you offer a guess as to what might have happened?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's a blank. The only person I had a run in with in town was your nephew, Andy Hayes. Have you asked him where he was that night?" Sheriff Zerbak looked up sharply at that and Sam knew Dean had effectively shut down whatever agenda the sheriff had. He flipped his notebook closed and looked hard at Dean for a moment before the anger drained from his face and he suddenly looked tired and sad.

"Look, agents, I'm just trying to find out what's going on in my town. I've got four dead children, two dead construction workers, a federal agent that was attacked on my watch, and no evidence whatsoever to suggest who is doing this. You gotta throw me a bone here. If you can remember anything, even the slightest insignificant detail that might help us get this bastard and protect these kids, you gotta tell me. I'm beggin' ya." The sheriff looked at Dean with pleading eyes and then to Sam and even over at Doris who looked at the ground and toed at the carpet with her foot without speaking. Sam looked back over at Dean who caught his eyes and sighed.

"Sheriff, you're a good man. I knew the moment I hit town that you cared about the people here and believe me, my partner and I share in your concern about what's going on. We are doing everything we possibly can to try and find out who's behind this, especially my partner after what they did to me. Seriously, he's like a bloodhound. If I remembered anything,  _anything_  about my attack that I thought would help you close this case, I would give it to you, but we are just as much at a loss over what's going on as you are and just as frustrated. So we need you to focus on keeping people safe and I give you my word that we will do everything in our power to find out who did this and stop them. Can you live with that?" The sheriff stared at Dean for the longest time and Sam watched Dean put as much sincerity behind his eyes as he could muster until the man visibly sagged down into himself then rose from his chair.

"Fair enough." He walked towards the front door, nodding to Doris as he passed, noted the salt line at the front door but just shook his head and left the apartment, closing the front door behind him." Sam, Doris and Dean stood in the silence for a beat. Sam let out a breath and turned to Dean just in time to see his brother collapse back against the pillows with a grimace. It was clearly time for more pain meds and without even asking, Sam got the ubiquitous pills and water from the kitchen and handed them to Dean. As Dean's hand passed over Sam's own, he noticed something strange. He let the pills fall onto the comforter and grabbed Dean's wrist, pulling his brother's arm alongside his own after setting the glass of water on the table.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"Dean... you're yellow!" He exclaimed seeing the marked difference between the hues of their skin. Where his was pasty white, Dean's was definitely yellowed and Sam looked up at his brother in alarm. The strange yellowness hadn't been there 20 minutes ago when they had been talking.

"Sammy, what the fuck is going on?" Dean was starting to shake, panic overwhelming him as he saw how yellow his skin was against Sam's. "What's happening?"

Dean pulled his arm from Sam's grasp and inspected both his own side by side against the sheets, then looked back and forth between Sam and his arms, clearing starting to freak out.

"What's it mean!?" Sam couldn't think, trying to search jumbled memories for the reason why someone's skin would turn yellow. He looked back at Dean and caught his brother's pleading eyes, fear meeting fear at the intersection of their panicked looks.

"Sammy..." was all Dean managed to get out before he leaned over the bed and vomited red up onto the carpet.


	16. Painted Black

Sam lunged forward and caught Dean before he could fall off the side of the pullout, wrapping his arms around Dean's chest to support him. His brother leaned heavily against him, puking his insides up onto the floor and Doris let out a strangled cry before running from the room and returning with the trashcan they thought they wouldn't need anymore. Dean shook in Sam's arms, sweat soaked and hot to the touch as he heaved blood red viscera out at an alarming rate. Sam could hear his brother's choked sobs around the gags and when Dean could no longer hold up his own head, Sam carded his hand through Dean's sweat soaked hair and tried to help him hold steady. He was trying to get his brain to process what was happening, find the logic behind the unthinkable, but all he could do was close his eyes and hold on for dear life. Doris was praying and calling Dean's name over and over again and Sam wanted to scream at her to just shut up. This wasn't supposed to be happening, Dean had been getting better.

Sam didn't dare let Dean go and held on as tightly as he dared as heave after heave brought forth impossible amounts of blood from his brother and it splashed against the plastic of the trashcan with sickening splats. The force of the vomiting propelled Dean forward in Sam's arms again and again and he desperately tried not to let go. He could feel the moment Dean fell into unconsciousness, his body stilling and becoming dead weight in Sam's arms and for the briefest of seconds he didn't dare move. If this was it... if he were to shift Dean and find him dead with empty and unseeing eyes he knew it would undo him but his brain decided to kick in at that moment and he eased his brother back onto the pillows.

Dean was bleeding from the eyes, bright red droplets that left his lashes to paint slashes down his cheeks. Doris started crying and Sam tried desperately to wipe the red from his brother's face. He could see blood starting to leak from his Dean's ears and nose as well and he fought to stay in control.

"Damn it Dean, don't you fucking do this to me!" Sam yelled, not realizing he'd grabbed his brother's shoulders and was shaking him hard. "Open your eyes!"

"Sam..."

"NO!" He bellowed, rounding on Doris. "This isn't over yet, this  _can't_ be over yet. Call Harvey, I have to go burn the bones. She's killing him!"

"Sam, he needs the hospital!" She argued, fear burning in her eyes.

"There's no time Doris! I can't protect him from the demon there. Get Harvey over here now and tell him Dean has all the symptoms of Yellow Fever."

"Yellow fever?"

He didn't have time for this now.

"It's what the woman in the bed and breakfast had, she's killing him with it. I have to go. Do not take him out of this apartment Doris," Sam begged, pulling his shoes on and searching for his coat. "I have to go stop this once and for all."

"Sam, please listen to yourself, he needs to go to a hospital. He's going to..."

"Don't you say it Doris, " Sam said, stopping with his hand on the doorknob to the front door. "don't you dare fucking say it. I'm going to burn her bones and this will all be over. It has to be."

Without looking back at Doris he flung the front door open and took the stairs at a run nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He jumped behind the wheel of Doris' pickup, the salt and fuel he'd asked her to get still in bags in the back of the truck and he threw it in reverse to squeal out of the driveway with a spray of melted snow. It was late and the streets of Oriskany were empty as he barreled down the roadway towards the bed and breakfast with panic pushing his foot down hard on the accelerator. In his hurry he hopped the curb in front of the b&b and the pickup's tires went up and into the snow, bouncing him around the cab. He hit his head against the side of the door, his seatbelt forgotten in the melee, and he shook his head to dislodge the stars that erupted in his vision.

Throwing the truck in park and leaving it half on the lawn, half in the street Sam jumped out not even bothering to close the door behind him and grabbed the bags sitting in the truck bed. One of them had tipped over, dumping its contents everywhere and he shoved them back into the plastic shopping bag as he cursed the delay. Bounding up the walkway to the front of the building he scanned his surroundings with a quick glance in each direction to make sure no one was watching him but thankfully there were no police cars or reporters hanging around anymore. The b&b was old news now and he tore through the police tape and into the building.

Instant blackness enveloped him, even the moon unable to provide light this night as it hid behind clouds as if it were hiding its eyes from what was happening on the earth below. He grabbed the lighter from his pocket and flicked it to life before descending down the stone staircase and into the bowels of the bed and breakfast. The weak light of the lighter painted strange shadows around him and things shifted and moved in the flickering light but he ignored the fear they tried to invoke. Dumping the bags onto the stone beside the hole that had grown into a space large enough for the workers trying to exhume the bones beneath to get through, Sam took the salt first and threw enough down into the hole to melt an ice rink. Next he sprayed every available surface with the lighter fluid containers Doris had bought and didn't stop until the third one was completely empty. He paused for one second to send up a prayer that all the remains were still there and let his lighter drop into the space.

The glow was faint at first but then the fumes in the enclosed room under the floor caught and the bed and breakfast rocked with the force of the explosion. Sam backpedaled, shielding his face as a fire ball erupted from the hole to catch the exposed wooden beams of the floor framing above and the stone beneath this feet began to rip apart. The heat was immense and he felt it singe his skin but he didn't care. It was an inferno that would be sure to engulf everything and he turned and made for the stairs to escape the flames and the slowly crumbling floor. The building gave a shudder, the very ground beneath his feet quaking much like it had before after Dean and Doris had opened the bag with the letters and Sam turned to look back at the fire just as a black shapeless mass came zooming out from the hole in the floor. The flames parted for it and it made straight for Sam.

He tried to turn and run but something was keeping his feet rooted to the ground and the black mass began to try and force its way down his throat. The smell of moss and decaying wood filled his nostrils and he choked, helpless against what was happening but then he felt a burning sensation on his chest and the black smoke gave an unholy bellow that reverberated through Sam's every limb as it reversed directions and left him just as suddenly as it had come. The mass shot off up the stairs and Sam followed after it, the fire's heat hot at his back. The bed and breakfast was starting to come down and debris pelted him as he made his way back to the stairs and up out into the night. He made it to the front door just in time to watch the black form of the demon disappear into the darkness and he ran for the pickup.

The bed and breakfast was consumed in flame and it lit the night around him, orange light reflecting off the ice and snow beneath his feet. The pickup grumbled to life and for a few panicked seconds the tires just spun in the snow until they finally found traction and reversed Sam back onto the roadway with a screech of rubber. His heart was in his throat as he threw the pickup back into drive and headed towards Doris' with the accelerator pushed to the floor. He was pretty sure the Nocnitsa had just tried to possess him and he put a hand to his chest where his anti possession tattoo still burned slightly and tried to catch his breath. He half expected the tattoo to be hot under his touch.

Sam slammed on the breaks in the driveway and took the steps up to Doris' place two at a time and reached the second level to nearly knock over a winded Harvey as he burst back through the front door.

"I torched the place. How is he?" He asked quickly, panting from his run up the stairs. Doris was clutching Harvey's medical bag and all she could do was shake her head at him with sadness and terror fighting for dominance behind her eyes. His knees nearly gave out

"No..."

"Sam, he's not dead yet, but he's not doing very well. He's going to need you t..." but she couldn't finish and Sam didn't know whether to start punching people out or let the tears threatening at the corners of his eyes release. Dean was laying on the pullout, every bit of him that could bleeding red out onto the white sheets beneath him, the red of the blood looking strange against the yellowness of his brother's skin. Not knowing what else to do, Sam fell to the floor on his knees next to his brother and took Dean's hand in his own trying not to be sick over the fact that blood was even coming from beneath his fingernails.

"Sam he needs to go to a hospital now. He's hemorrhaging," Harvey was saying to him. Sam looked from his brother then back to the old man, anger shooting up through him.

"We can't! It's in the move, it'll come for him."

"The demon?" Doris asked, startled.

"I saw it. It tried to attack me, but my tattoo held it off but it knows me now and it's going to come back. If it goes after Dean next, he's not going to be strong enough to fight her off. It'll kill him. We can't go.

"Sam, he's going to die." Doris said it with such finality that Sam couldn't help the angry cry that scraped past his throat.

"It's not supposed to happen this way," he yelled, smashing a lamp on the table beside him into the wall with the back of his hand. "She was supposed to leave him and take the symptoms with her! We did everything she wanted." Dean's chest was heaving now, every breath a struggle for his brother and Sam watched as more blood escape past his lips. His brother was dying and everything they'd done was going to be for nothing. This stupid hunt that his brother had escaped into because of his fucking words back in the bunker was going to take his life and it was all Sam's fault.

"There has to be another way. You can't leave me like this you stupid bastard! I didn't mean what I said in the bunker and I was a fool to think I could ever just let you go. I won't let go, Dean but you've got to fight this. Don't let her win!" Sam buried his face in the fabric of Dean's shirt, not caring about the blood. "Please Dean, fight it..."

Sam did let himself cry then and he didn't care that the two older adults behind him saw. He wept for his brother, for the love that they had somehow lost, for the years he'd ruined being a complete fuckup and for every time his brother had saved him and all the times he had the chance to save Dean but couldn't... wouldn't, and for this time on an insignificant hunt where all he needed to do was destroy a vengeful spirit and it would be over but he was messing this up to and in the despair, he sobbed.

Doris put a hand on his back and he didn't shake it off.

"Sam, honey, are you sure you got it all?" He looked up at her sharply. Of course, how could he have been so stupid. Where was the best place to look for it... the bag, that had to be it.

Sam stood suddenly and nearly toppled Doris to the ground in his haste to get to the table and to the letters and the bag that were sitting there. He tore through the pile, opening any unopened letters and dumping their contents onto the table, searching desperately for anything the men might have used to bind the girl's soul. It was part of the spell he'd only just translated and it had to be the answer. Finding nothing he slammed his fists against the table and the Benjamin Franklin envelope floated to the ground to land at his feet. Picking it up he noticed that something was still in it so he turned the envelope over and a long cord fell out into his palm... but it wasn't a cord, it was a lock of braided hair and Sam nearly choked on his relief.

"Doris I need a lighter, now!" He held out his hand still studying the braid and moments later she put one of those big lighters used to light candles into his hand. Taking the lock of hair he threw it into the sink, sprinkled table salt over the top of it then lit the end on fire.

The room immediately filled with the unmistakable acrid smell of burning hair, but that was quickly forgotten by all when a white light exploded in the room near Dean. Sam whirled around and saw that the light was emanating from within his brother, the form of a woman sitting up from within him. He'd never seen anything like it before and shock kept him rooted firmly to the floor as he watched with mouth agape as the woman looked right at him and smiled. Floating up she hovered a few feet above the bed and Doris gasped, grabbing at her crucifix and Harvey fainted dead away into the chair with the roses.

"I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Use the book, the key is in the book." and with a flicker she was gone and with her the blinding white light.

The room immediately stilled and the atmosphere was light around them. The spirit had taken the oppressive feeling of dread with it as it had disappeared and Sam couldn't believe what a difference it made. He could breathe again and he ran over to his brother's side.

"Dean!" The blood was still there but Sam could see that no more was bubbling out of his brother. Dean's breathing had evened out as well and though pale from the blood loss, the ghost seemed to have taken all the yellow fever symptoms along with it when it had left. Relief so complete inside of him, Sam started to laugh.

"Oh God. Oh thank GOD!" When Doris came up beside him he couldn't help but jump up and wrap her in a bear hug, pulling the older woman right off her feet. She gasped but held on and Harvey woke up in his chair to the sight of Sam twirling her around the room.

"Sam, let me down, he still needs looking after," Doris laughed and Sam put her back on her feet but not before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"If you hadn't been here with us, I would have lost him. I will never be able to repay you for what you've done for me... for him."

"You can pay me back by finishing this Sam," She said seriously, straightening her shirt. "That demon needs to be stopped. She's the cause of all of this and if she hadn't been feeding on children in the first place then that poor girl would never have been trapped down in that basement and all this never would have happened."

"You have my word. I'll stop her." He said it sincerely and she pulled him into another hug.

Sam helped Harvey get out of his chair and expected a million questions about what had happened and was surprised when they didn't come. He suspected the old man was more embarrassed about fainting than anything and didn't want to revisit what had just happened. That was fine with Sam.

Dean was still unconscious and Harvey looked him over, checking his vitals and then the incision. He'd popped a few snitches, but Harvey made quick work of redoing them and then pronounced Dean out of danger and in just as good a shape as he was when they'd left Harvey's house earlier that morning. He was going to need fluids and another transfusion but that was easily done and Sam and Harvey set everything up while Doris cleaned Dean up as best she could. Sam helped her get the ruined sheets off the bed and realized with a pang of guilt that the mattress would not be salvageable but luckily Doris had a plastic sheet handy and they carefully maneuvered Dean over onto it so he wasn't lying in the blood. She got fresh pillows and pretty soon Dean was looking almost like himself again. The blood was gone and his skin still looked grayish from losing so much blood but anything was better than the sickly yellow it had been before.

With Dean cleaned up and free of red, Harvey took the bag of blood Sam had provided and hooked Dean up after some help from Sam with the IV again. When it was all said and done they ended up much the same way they had earlier that day, in chairs in a circle near Dean. No one really talked and eventually Harvey fell asleep in his chair Sam leaned back into his own, never letting go of Dean's hand, feeling sleep pull at his eyelids. He couldn't remember the last time his head had hit a pillow and the thought pulled a laugh from him.

"What's so funny?" Doris asked, eyeing him tiredly.

"I was just thinking about how little sleep I've gotten over the past week, that's all."

"It's been a whirlwind, I'll give you that," Doris sighed and rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn.

"You know, if you hadn't said anything to me about burning everything at the bed and breakfast, I never would have thought to look for that lock of hair." He said, catching her eye. "Thank you."

"You'd have figured it out eventually," She smiled, patting his knee.

"You've saved our asses so many times this past week we might have to take you with us when this is all over. Our bunker could use a grandmotherly touch."

"A bunker? You two live in a bunker?" She laughed. "How very apt." Sam smiled.

"It looks pretty imposing from the outside but the men who built it did a really good job at making it a livable space. I think you'd like it."

"Might have to take you up on your offer what with all the new wall art and the bloodstains on the floor." She said, picking at a piece of flecked blood on the sheet beside her.

"We'll pay for this. Every bit of it."

"It's fine Sam, that's not what I meant."

"I promise you, we'll make it right."

"Of that I have no doubt," She answered and Sam wasn't quite sure she meant it the way he thought.

"I've been thinking something over, Sam." She said suddenly, turning tired eyes on him and holding his gaze with the force of her look.

"Shoot." There wasn't anything he'd deny her right about now.

"That spell that the general and his men used on the girl, the summoning one?" Sam nodded, "I want you to use it on me."

"What!?" He was pretty sure his eyebrows shot up and off his forehead at that and she put her hands up to stop him from quashing her idea right then and there.

"Hear me out, Sam! If you use that spell to draw her into me and then use the devil's trap from the book, you can exorcise her and be done with this once and for all."

"No way, Doris. There are way too many things that could go wrong with that plan. She might kill you before I can get her out... something could go wrong and she could break free and take you with her. You have no idea what demons like that are capable of. No, absolutely not."

"But think about it Sam! You said so yourself you have no idea how to stop her, this is a way to do that! You and Dean can't do it with your tattoos..."

"We could burn them off..." he interrupted.

"Honestly Sam? No, Dean would be in no condition to do the exorcism if we used the spell on you and I can't learn Latin fast enough to do it and be sure that I wouldn't screw it up. And Dean certainly can't be the one to get possessed by the thing so I see no other option."

"No, we keep looking until we find another spell that works. The ghost said..."

"And how many more children have to die before we find that spell, huh Sam? Maybe this is what she was taking about anyway. And isn't this exactly the beef you have with you brother? That he's always trying to protect you and making your decisions for you instated of trusting you to make the right ones on your own? I want to do this Sam, I need to do this and you need to get on board with it."

He opened his mouth but words betrayed him. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe, do the very thing he'd accused Dean of and she'd called him out on it. Sam let his head drop and his hair fell over his ears and into his face. How could he deny her this and yet how could he let her try it either?

"But what if you die?"

"Then I die," She said quietly, brushing his hair back off his face and catching his chin with her finger to bring his head back up. "I've lived a good life, Sammy. I've made my peace with God and if he wants me with him, so be it. I'm ready.

Besides," she finished, dropping her hand and letting the moment pass, "there's always a chance that everything goes according to plan and works out fine."

 _"Didn't she realize who she was dealing with?"_  He thought, but didn't voice it.


	17. Highway to Hell

It was quiet in the apartment and in the nighttime stillness Sam sat facing his brother in the rose colored easy chair and tried to clean the blood from his hairline. The water in the basin on his lap was pink and every time he dipped the cloth Doris had given him into the liquid the flecks of dried blood released their shapes to disappear into the pinkness. Doris had done pretty well getting most of the blood from Dean's ears and nose but red still clung to his hairline like some macabre crown, drying clumps of it into blood red spikes that crunched when he passed over them. Sam ran the cloth gently over his brother's skin and tried not to replay the memories of what had just happened over and over again his mind. Hours had passed yet the scene continued to play out and nothing he tried would make the loop stop running through his brain on repeat.

Harvey had long ago left after making Sam promise to make Dean get plenty of rest and keep the IV going until it was finished and Sam watched his brother's chest rise and fall in sleep for a moment, enamored by the simple action. Breath in and breath out, life condensed to its most basic form before him and his emotions battered around inside of him at the thought of how close he'd just come to losing his brother. He was glad he was alone with Dean in that moment, the simple mission to get the blood out of his hair oddly comforting and therapeutic after the chaotic stress of the day. It was here he could be close to his brother without any interruptions and he found himself yearning for Dean to open his eyes. There were decisions to be made and while Sam was perfectly capable of making them on his own, he and Dean were two halves of the same whole, no matter how hard Sam fought against it, and he needed Dean to be there with him now to tip the scales to whatever end. The weight of what Doris was asking shouldn't be borne by Sam alone, but Dean slumbered on, keeping his thoughts to himself for now.

Sam made another pass with the damp cloth and the blood coming from Dean's hair painted a bright red streak across the fabric and Sam was suddenly transported back to the moment when Dean had begun hemorrhaging, bleeding from every possible place and he shuddered, sending the water in the basin on his lap rippling. It wasn't fair that these things kept happening to them and it wasn't fair that Doris was now asking him to dangle them all over the pits of hell while she stood beside him with a determined grin and a pair of scissors not really aware of what she was doing or the precipice on which they stood. She was asking him to use an ancient spell on her to draw a demon in and let it possess her, a spell that might not even work given her age. It was like his situation with the angel all over again but he couldn't argue with her over it because she was taking every opportunity to look up at him with those eyes of hers and tell him how she knew the risks and was willing to do it anyway. It wasn't like she was unconscious or dying and he was trying to talk her into doing something she didn't want to.

On the other hand he needed to make her see the very real danger she was in but where was he supposed to start? How was he going to put into words how it felt to be completely helpless as a demon used his unresponsive limbs to do unspeakable things? How it felt to watch his own hands slit an innocent man's throat or put a bullet in his brother's shoulder then look on as his body disappeared beneath inky black water with a smirk on the face that was no longer his to control? How would he ever protect her from the stuff of nightmares when she continually fought against any argument he made? All he wanted to do was protect her, hell that's all he'd ever wanted to do his entire life but for some reason every single person who meant anything to him on this stupid planet constantly fought against him in that one thing. He couldn't save their father, he couldn't save Bobby, he couldn't protect Jess from the life he lead and the same was true for Kevin and for Ash, for Jo and for Ellen and for Madison and Pamela... the list went on and it always ended with Dean. He'd failed his brother so many times and on so many levels it wasn't even funny anymore but a little ray of hope invaded his dark thoughts at the idea that in this time, on this hunt, he'd actually managed to save someone. Sure, he'd had a lot of help doing it and his brother still wasn't completely out of the woods just yet but Dean was alive and warm beneath Sam's touch. Breath in and breath out, indeed. This hunt had nearly taken everything from them and Sam knew if could just manage to get them through the last leg of this journey alive, then they could return to the bunker different people to start the process of learning how to trust each other again. Doris' had to have been sent to them for a reason and Sam wondered if he could possibly convince her to go along with them.

Sam stole a sidelong look over his shoulder at Doris who sat in the dim light of the dining room poring over the notes Sam had taken on the devil's trap book with her lip caught between her teeth. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and Sam couldn't help the pang of affection that rippled across his insides at the sight of her. She had been the one constant in all of this and Sam owed the woman his life and Dean's but every time he thought about what she was asking of him, his mind rebelled against the plan. She was determined to get herself killed for them and all they'd managed to bring her so far was danger and loss. They were dealing with an ancient evil, one that had been trapped beneath the earth for over 200 years and was described as the Eater of Children by battle worn soldiers, and she wanted him to summon the thing and let it posses her like they were inviting it over for afternoon tea. Even Harvey knew they were up to something big and when he had left a few hours ago he'd had a few things to say to Sam and his words drifted back to the forefront of his mind.

_"I don't know what you boys have gotten yourselves into here, but please, keep Doris safe. She means the world to an awful lot of people in this town."_

_"I will, Harvey."_

Sam had wanted to add a promise to the end of their tense goodbye, but what Doris was asking of him was so monumental Sam didn't know if he would be able to keep any of them alive once they started down the path Doris was determined to push them towards. She was a creature Sam had never encountered before, an endangered species and part of him couldn't cope with the idea of wiping her kind off the face of the earth with another hunt gone wrong. As if sensing his eyes and thoughts on her, Doris looked up from the notes she was reading and Sam turned his attention back to Dean, not really caring if she had caught him looking at her or not. A few seconds later he listened as Doris got up from her chair at the table, joints creaking and popping as she stretched and he was reminded yet again of just how old she really was.

"Quit thinking so loud, I can hear you all the way over here," Doris said quietly, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder that he couldn't bear to move out from under. Her touch was warm and comforting and he closed his eyes when she gave him an affectionate squeeze with her hand. When human contact had become such a commodity to him, he wasn't really sure, but something about her had him leaning into her touch and closing his eyes as his shoulders shuddered a bit. Doris put a hand through the hair at the base of his neck and held tight. "It's alright Sam. Everything is going to be alright."

Doris took the cloth and the basin away from him but Sam didn't dare turn around to face her. Instead he turned his head away to stare at the wall and try to get his seesawing emotions under control. He was so very tried and his body ached in places he didn't even realize could ache but he knew in that moment that he needed to be strong. If not for Dean then for the lives at stake and the children that were dying in the tiny town of Oriskany, a place only on the map because of the lives lost on a battlefield outside of town. It was a heavy burden to bear but Sam imagined he had broad shoulders and enough strength to carry it all alone. He couldn't lose it now, not with a child killing demon on the loose and a newly formed bond with his brother to protect. His only wish was that there would be some other way for him to achieve it all besides the plan Doris was suggesting.

"I still think this a terrible idea," he said as Doris settled in beside him and he finally looked up to meet her eyes.

"I know you do, honey, but you won't talk me out of it." She said matter-of-factly, squaring her jaw and leveling him with her gaze.

"He's not going to like it," Sam muttered, looking back over at his brother and covering Dean's hand with his own. "You know that, right? He's going to fight you to the very end and he can be pretty persuasive."

"I'll convince him."

"Don't be so sure." Sam countered and Doris leaned heavily back into her chair with an irritated sigh.

"Sam, he's going to have to accept it. I know the risks and this is what I want."

"But do you, Doris? Really? You've never been possessed by a demon... never..."

"Sam, I get it," She interrupted, putting up her hands to stop him. "My imagination is doing just fine imagining all the things that demon could do with me without any help from you, but I can't just sit around here and wait for you to  _maybe_ find another way to stop this thing when we have a perfectly viable option right in front of us that we could use tonight. Children are dying.  _Babies_ , Sam, and if I can stop it, then I stop it. End of discussion."

"Look, I know that you want to do this for your town, Doris, and for the kids that are being murdered but Dean and I might not be able to protect you if things go south."

"Sam, I trust God and I trust you two. Don't you get that yet?" She said almost angrily and he narrowed his eyes at her and she shifted slightly under his scrutiny but didn't back down.

"Well you shouldn't." Sam spat, his own anger coloring his voice. "All we're good for is getting the people around us killed."

"And why do you think that is, Sam, huh?" She almost yelled, "because you and your brother force them against their will to die for you? No, I don't buy that for a second. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe it's just that the people around you happen to love you so much that they're willing to lay down their own lives for you? That maybe they realized, like I have, that you two boys are worth a hell of a lot more on this earth than any old woman with no family ever could be? But I doubt you've ever let yourself look at it that way, have you Sam? People around you die because you are  _worth saving_  and to hear you dismiss those sacrifices your friends and family have made is infuriating. How do I make you see your value, Sam? Please, tell me how because I'm at the end of my rope here!" Sam opened his mouth to retort but then the realization of what she was saying washed over him and he scrubbed a shaky hand over his face.

"My life is worth no more than yours," he said quietly, the words familiar on his tongue.

"It's not true, Sam. You can tell yourself that over and over again but it will never be true. Think about the people that would have died, will die if you're not around. You're chosen, Sam and I know it's a heavy burden to bear but you've done it for 20 plus years, now let me help you do it for another 20 more." Doris grabbed his hands and made him look up at her. "If you trust nothing else in this world, then trust in this: you are important and there is a plan and the universe will unfold as it should."

"Boy, you don't ask for much, do you?" He said with a hint of sarcasm behind his voice and she released his hands with a sad laugh, the sound of it filling the room and wrapping around them both.

"Well, I've never been one to sit idly by, that's for sure." It was Sam's turn to laugh at that and she offered him a small smile in return. You could have cut the tension with a knife a moment ago but now the electricity in the air around them dissipated slightly and Sam's muscles uncoiled as if he'd just finished some kind of battle... and maybe he had. Doris wanted him to have faith, something he'd never been particularly good at finding or holding on to so he struggled to wrap his head around what she was telling him. If he had died in that church and closed the gates of hell, he would have saved many lives but there was more evil in the world than just demons and maybe, just maybe, he could admit that there was an upside to him being alive... Sam just couldn't decide if he was ready to believe it or not yet.

They sat in the silence they'd made for each other and Sam dragged his eyes back to Dean, wondering what he was going to say about all of this when he woke up. His brother was piled under an army of blankets, their desperate attempt at keeping his core temperature up after all the blood loss and Sam thought he caught the barest hint of movement beneath the piles. A few minutes later, Dean's eyes were moving under their lids and Doris noticed it to.

"I think he's finally coming around," she said at his elbow before helping Sam to remove a few of the blankets from atop Dean so that he would be able to move a little easier when he woke up.

Sam watched his brother struggle to regain consciousness and for any signs that Dean might be in pain, praying he wouldn't be too disoriented when he woke up. Sam didn't think he could take another round of pinning Dean to the mattress by his arms while trying to convince him that everything was alright and that he was safe, especially when his brother constantly tried to prove him wrong every chance he got. It seemed to take an age, but eventually Dean began to rouse and Sam stood and took his hand for good measure.

"Dean, it's Sam. Can you open your eyes for me?"

"Sm'my?" Dean cracked his green eyes open slowly and Sam didn't think he'd ever been so relieved in his life. He let his head drop for a second so he could check the tears that stung at the sides of his eyes and when he looked back up, he met Dean's fear filled stare.

"You alright, baby brother?" He asked concerned, his voice cracking from unconsciousness and disuse. " What happened?"

Sam thought about how best to answer his brother and decided there was no use in keeping anything from him at this point though the last thing he wanted to do was relive everything over again. Sam squared his shoulders and answered.

"What happened is you almost died... again," Sam half laughed, half sobbed, so happy to see his brother alert and awake that he couldn't help but get choked up. He collapsed onto the edge of the pullout and only then let Dean pull his hand away from his own. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

"Just that my skin went yellow and I started throwing up blood," Dean replied slowly, eyes closing as his brow creased in concentration or in pain, Sam couldn't tell which one. "She was still in me, wasn't she?"

"She was," Sam said quietly and watched as Dean processed the information, wishing he could take his brother's pain away. "We think she gave you yellow fever too, that's why your skin went the color it did."

"Yellow fever, are you serious?" Dean asked with as much amazement as he seemed to be able to muster in the moment. Harvey had given him a shot of pain killers a few hours ago but they looked to be wearing off and Doris disappeared from Sam's side to go into the kitchen and get Dean his pills. When she returned he refused all but one of them.

"Come on dude, there's no reason to be stupid. Just take them all." but Dean only shook his head and dry swallowed the one pill with defiance in his eyes as if he could guess the bomb they were about to drop on him and was preparing himself for battle.

"Just tell me what happened." He requested, collapsing wearily back after swallowing down the pain killer. Sam watched him try to get comfortable under the coverings and wince from the movement but he was looking at Sam with such tenacity in his eyes that Sam couldn't help but acquiesce.

"You passed out on me and then started hemorrhaging so Doris called Harvey and I went over to the b&b to salt and burn the ghost's bones. I burned that place to the ground but when I got back you still weren't doing any better and we ended up finding a lock of the woman's hair in the Benjamin Franklin envelope. When I destroyed it, it set her free. She left you, the bleeding stopped and while we had to give you more fluids and another transfusion, you somehow managed to pull through." Sam answered, trying not to let the weight of their close call drag him down.

"And what about the demon?" Dean asked, still looking worried. "Has she killed any more kids?"

"Not that we know of, honey, you've only been out for about 4 hours or so." Doris answered from behind Sam and Dean looked back and forth between them looking for confirmation that it was true. Sam nodded and Dean seemed to relax back again.

"So it's over then." He said with a sigh and Sam hoped that he was right.

"How are you feeling anyway?" He asked, watching the lines of Dean's face deepen when he shifted again under the covers.

"Like I've been hit by a truck," Dean answered honestly with a little half smile. "But I don't hear her inside my head anymore and the pain in my joints is gone. If that's what she had to go through down in that basement where she died, then I don't blame her for becoming a vengeful spirit. I would have done it to." Dean was joking but Sam couldn't help but shudder at the thought of how close they'd really come to something like that happening. Dean seemed to catch the look in Sam's eyes and his brother grabbed his wrist.

"I'm okay, Sammy," he said quietly, catching Sam's eyes. "I promise."

Sam nodded and they stared at each other for a beat, a litany of apologies and platitudes passing between their shared gaze until Doris cleared her throat and Dean broke the connection to look over his shoulder at the older woman. Sam tensed, knowing what was about to come next.

"I'm sorry to break up this brotherly moment, but we need to talk about what we're going to do about the Nocnitsa." Doris said, her voice quavering slightly as if second guessing her resolve to run the plan by Dean. Sam let his eyes drop to the floor and Doris began to lay out her battle plans to his brother.

 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

 

"Are you freaking' kidding me?! This is a terrible plan!" Doris looked over at Sam with pleading eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Dean was taking the plan exactly how Sam had predicted: badly and he couldn't decide whether to help Doris or let her fight the battle on her own.

"Dean this is what I want. You won't talk me out of it!" She exclaimed with clenched fists, clearly trying to control her anger when Sam stayed silent.

"Do you have any idea the number of things that could go wrong with this plan? Sam might be too chicken shit to lay it out to you straight, Doris, but I'm certainly not. She could..."

"Dean, believe me," Doris interrupted, red faced and pissed off, "Sam has run through every scenario with me twice and I still want this."

"It's suicide, don't you see that!? You have no idea what these things are capable of. She'll kill you without batting an eye, kill US and we've got nothing to go on but some old lore a book Sam can't even identify. Devil's traps can be broken, Doris, there's no guarantee that this will work."

"Dean, please stop and think about this for a second. What if we spend the next few days or even weeks trying to find something that will stop this thing and more and more kids start dying? What if we never find anything? This is what we have right now, in this moment, and it'll work Dean!" She pleaded.

"And what do you have to say about all this?" Dean asked Sam suddenly over Doris' shoulder, eyes flashing with anger as if daring him to take a side. Sam chose his words carefully.

"I say that if it will save the kids here in town, then we have to try. She knows the risks, Dean and she's still willing to go through with it. After everything Doris has done for us, I think we owe her at lease the chance to try." Sam watched Doris break out into a satisfied smile and Dean's features go dark. He was pissed but what Doris said next chased the storm clouds away from his brow.

"If anything, Dean, please let me do this for my Abraham. That bitch took him from me and I can't stand by and watch as she kills more people." If there was a ever a way to win Dean over, that was it, and Sam watched the first flashes of uncertainly play across his brother's features. Winchesters knew about revenge, it flowed through their very veins and Sam knew Doris had caught his brother for good. Dean sagged back against the back of the pullout where pillows still propped him up and tried to hide a wince. The one pill he'd taken 20 minutes ago didn't look to be controlling the pain like he needed it to and Sam fought back the urge to try and convince him to take another.

"Say we try this... you realize the spell might not even work on you, right?" Dean pointed out, looking up at Doris for one more shot at trying to dissuade her from her plan. "That old crone told Herkimer and his men that it needed to be a 25 year old woman who traps the spirit and while I mean no disrespect by this Doris, you're no spring chicken." Sam's eyes darted over to Doris to see how she would take the crack at her age but instead of getting angry she only lowered herself to sit next to Dean on the pullout with something unreadable in her expression. Dean eyed her warily but didn't move away when she put a gentle hand on the outline of his leg beneath the blankets.

"I know you're only saying that because you're worried about me, honey, but I looked over that spell and it doesn't say anything about age in the incantation. I know I can do this but I can't do it on my own or without your help." What she said next was hardly above a whisper and Sam had to strain to hear her words. "Please, let me save them."

Sam watched as Dean's features went soft and he ran a hand over his face like he normally did when he was going over something big in his head and coming to a decision.

"If we do this thing, I have to be a part of it. There's no leaving sick helpless Dean in the apartment while you two go chasing after demons. I'll help you do this if you agree to my terms. Both of you." Dean said, shooting Sam a look that warned him not to test him on the decision. He wanted to fight against his brother on it but knew there was no point. Dean would drag himself into danger even if they tried to tie him to the bed.

"I figured you would say that, Dean." Sam said with a sigh, not bothering to hide the defeat in his voice. "Harvey left us a spare wheelchair. If you'll promise to use it, you've got yourself a deal." Sam watched his brother open his mouth to protest but then close it again without saying anything. A look of insolence passed over his face briefly but eventually it disappeared and he nodded reluctantly.

"Okay." He said finally, though Sam could tell he was still reluctant and unsure. "Did you two have an idea about where we could do this thing?"

"I was thinking downstairs in the diner," Doris offered, trying to hide the obvious relief on her face from Dean so as not to reignite his ire. "We can take down the tables easy enough and I've got some leftover paint stored in a back room. Sam can use it to draw up the devil's trap on the ceiling of the dining room and the counter will give you and Sam some cover, you know... just in case." It was a pretty good idea actually and Sam watched his brother come to the same conclusion. The diner offered everything they would need to pull this off and Sam though it apropos that they would have one final showdown with a demon as nasty as the Nocnitsa in a diner. He and Dean had seen their fair share of places like Doris' over the years and if ever there was a place for them to make a last stand, knee deep in classic American diner was the place to do it in.

Sam kept having to remind himself that there was still a chance that the spell might work and that they would be able to exorcise the demon and send it back to hell before it did any more damage, but his thoughts kept going back to all the things that could go wrong and to the demon killing knife that was still sitting unused and unremembered in his duffle bag back in Doris' bedroom. The subject of knife hadn't come up at all yet and Sam wondered if Dean wasn't thinking the same thing he was when they caught each other's eyes again as Doris explained where all the supplies were downstairs. If things went south, there was only one way that they got out of this alive and they were going to have to eventually broach the subject with Doris. Dean held Sam's gaze for another moment and then both brother's dropped their eyes at the same time and Sam was certain in that moment that Dean was thinking about the knife too.

Pushing away the thoughts for now, Sam followed Doris over to a door in her kitchen he had assumed was just a pantry. As it turned out the door actually opened onto a set of narrow back stairs that led directly down to the supply room of the diner. It meant that Sam wouldn't even have to step foot outside and risk another run in with the demon to get things ready downstairs. He hoped the good fortune was an indication of what was to come.

Making sure Dean was situated and okay to be left alone for a few minutes, Sam and Doris were about to make their way down the stairs when a cell phone chirp had them both stopping as Doris fished her cell from out of the pocket of her jeans. For some reason the vibrations of the phone grated against Sam's already raw nerves and he watched as she squinted at the display and angled the phone to catch more light to read the incoming number by.

"That's strange," She said half to herself and half to Sam and then pressed the red answer key on the phone's touch screen before holding the phone to her ear. "Hello Mable? What's going on?"

Sam watched with a sinking feeling in his gut as Doris' face went from amused bewilderment at the call to all out shock and he had to step forward to catch her when her knees started to buckle and she nearly collapsed to the floor.

"How? When?" She clutched at Sam for support and he held his breath when tears sprang to her eyes as he tried to hold her upright as best he could while she started to shake in his arms. "No, I understand. You let me know what they say. Okay, honey."

Doris managed to hit the end call button on her phone before her shaking hands lost their grip on the cell and it clattered noisily to the floor, its protective plastic covering skittering across the kitchen tile as it broke apart. Sam didn't know how to ask her what had happened but his own guess had already formed in his mind and he wrapped his arms around her as she began to shake apart.

"They found Harvey," She cried, wetting the front of Sam's shirt with her tears. "He was dead in his car in the driveway. She got him, Sam. The demon got him."


	18. Black Magic Woman

Sam got down off the step stool carefully and then craned his neck back to look up at his handy work. The devil's trap painted across the tiles of the diner's dining room ceiling looked pretty damn good and he glanced over to Doris who gave him a thumbs up from her seat at the counter. She had the pages of the devil's trap book collected in an old three ringed binder, plastic slipcovers protecting the disintegrating pages from further harm and it was opened up on the counter top in front of her. She looked back and forth between the drawings and the ceiling to check just one more time that he had gotten everything right. The trap was old and one he'd never used before and Sam had gone back and forth on if they should even use it or not but the demon had been trapped in it for over 200 years, a fluke the only thing that had allowed her to escape, so he figured it was their best shot.

Sam cast a sidelong look behind him to Dean who was squeaking the wheels of the old fold up wheelchair Harvey had left for them before he died back and forth across the linoleum tiles and his brother had the good sense to stop, put his hands in his lap and look abashed when Sam caught his eyes with a scowl.

"Ya did good, Sammy," he said, gesturing towards the trap and offering the compliment up like some kind of apology for the annoying noise. Dean was looking better than he had about an hour ago when they'd made the painstaking trip down the narrow back stairs. His strength was starting to return a little now that the ghost was gone and had taken the yellow fever with her, but Dean still went white when pain surged through him. He was still paying for the trip down the stairs in fatigue and slumped shoulders and Sam had caught him putting a hand to his chest on more than one occasion but like always Dean was pushing the pain down, using it to propel him forward instead of back and Sam was suddenly very glad that he had his brother with him. Dean would even out his fear and apprehension of what they were about to do, even if it was just a façade his brother put up and even if he was as wobbly and uncertain inside as Sam was. He'd take what he could get.

Sam knew his brother was bored out of his mind and he really couldn't blame him. Even though he was stronger than he'd been in days, Sam still insisted that he use the wheelchair like he'd promised and was paying for it now in dirty looks and squeaky wheels. Dean wasn't used to being still and Sam knew it was killing his brother not to be in the thick of things, bossing Sam around on how to set things up for the ritual or helping to clear the dining room of its detritus so there would be no surfaces for the demon to inflict more damage on them should things go south. At least Dean was alive and around to watch him and Doris do the heavy lifting and he thought about reminding his brother of that fact but in the end thought it better not to rock the boat and stayed silent.

Sam looked up at the ceiling one last time and followed the magenta lines of the trap with his eyes, checking for any inconsistencies in the paint, the slightest gap or air bubble in the design that could spell doom for their impending escapade. The trap was sound and he couldn't help the little surge of hope that bounced around his chest at the thought that maybe this could work. For the past hour he'd been wrestling with the plan, running the logistics of it all over and over again in his head until he had managed to convince himself again that it was a terrible plan and that they shouldn't do it but then his thoughts would drift to Doris and her pleading words to him every time he brought up what a bad idea it was. He thought about Harvey too, the little old man who'd saved Dean's life, saved all their asses really, by allowing them into his home and then paying the ultimate price for it in the end. How was he supposed to deny Doris revenge for her friend? How was he supposed to sit idly by while the demon killed more people when they had a way to stop her right in front of them but Sam was too chicken shit to put Doris out on the front lines with no ammunition, hell no gun even, and ask her to fight against an unknown enemy? She had told him earlier that people died for them because they were worth dying  _for_  and his mind was still chewing over that idea. Even if it were true, it didn't make sacrificing people he cared about any easier and Sam felt his shoulders sag at the thought of losing another friend. To stop the endless litany of arguments and counter arguments in his head, Sam busied himself with clearing away the plastic tarp he'd laid on the floor to catch any stray paint droplets then headed back behind the counter to wash out the brushes he'd used to paint the trap on the ceiling. There was a little sink under the counter, right next to where Doris was still flipping through the plastic pages of the binder and he got to work cleaning the brushes of their paint and avoiding her eyes. He could feel Doris' gaze settle on him immediately but he focused his attention on the work knowing that if he looked up and met her red rimmed and puffy eyes, he would start up the arguments all over again in his head and maybe even say something to her. Sam watched the magenta paint mix with the running water and then flow over his hands and tried not to think about how it reminded him of Dean, laying on the basement floor, his blood pumping up and through Sam's fingers to color the back of his hands crimson. When his shoulders shook involuntarily at the memories, Doris mistook the shudder for apprehension.

"Everything is going to be okay, Sam. Just you wait and see." She said and Sam finally glanced up to look at her full on. She was tired, they all were, and the lines on her face were prominent in the unforgiving light of the diner, but she was looking over at him with fire burning behind her eyes and he knew what she was up to. Harvey's death was a catalyst and she was using it to fuel the fire within her until her very skin was aglow with it, righteous fury smoldering just below her surface and Sam knew there would be no stopping her now though his stubborn mind was going to try anyway. He looked back down to the sink and finding an empty container, set the brushes soaking before drying his hands on his jeans then leaning back against the low shelves along the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Doris seemed to tense for what was coming next and he hated that she could read him so well. She closed the white binder with the devil's trap book pages carefully then looked back at him with fight in her eyes, a look that told him there was no use in dredging things up again but that she knew he was going to do it anyway.

"How can you be so sure?" He asked her, holding her heated gaze with his own and refusing to back down.

"Because I feel it my gut Sam, and that's enough for me." She retorted with the slightest hint of sharpness in her voice, her chin raising a little in defiance. "Why can't that be enough for you? Why do you have to keep fighting me on this?"

"I just want to make sure you understand what's going to happen here, Doris. What we're about to do, well, Dean and I know seasoned hunters who have been in the life a lot longer than us who wouldn't even try something like this. It's a big deal, you need to understand the risks."

"You and Dean have explained them to me, repeatedly, and yet here we still are. I'm not going to back down, Sam. Please, PLEASE stop trying to make me. The sooner you get on board with this, the sooner we stop this thing." Sam looked over at Dean for help but his brother just averted his eyes and stayed silent.

"Run the plan through with me, Doris. Just one more time and I'll leave you alone about it." He said more angry at Dean then her in that moment and she looked up at him as if trying to decide if there was some kind of hidden agenda behind the request.

"You're going to summon the demon into me using the ritual from the book, the same one Herkimer and his men used to trap her the first time. Once she's in me the devil's trap will keep her contained so that you can exorcise her and send her back to hell. Oriskany will be safe and I can move on with my life."

"Okay, now tell me everything that could go wrong." Doris narrowed her eyes at him, anger flashing behind them.

"Sam..."

"Tell me!" He wasn't going to back down and was going to make her say it out loud and he watched as she shrank minutely before his eyes as if the weight of the world had suddenly settled in around her shoulders. She broke their eye contact and let her head fall.

"The spell might not even work because I'm an old woman who's not 25 years old anymore. She could kill me instantly or break out of the trap somehow and kill us all and if she did manage to get out of the trap you might have to use your demon killing knife to stop her in which case I die but the kids in my town live and it's still over and done with." She looked back up at him with the last part as if daring him to continue the argument but it was Dean who spoke next.

"Doris, are you sure you want to go through with this?" His brother asked, maneuvering the squeaky wheelchair forward with the metallic screech of rusted parts, the noise echoing through the dining room, nothing left in the space to muffle the noise.

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life. And Sam, I thought you were on my side with this. Why the sudden about-face?"

"I just got done painting a devil's trap on your ceiling, Doris. I'm turning on you, I just want to make sure you're absolutely positive about this before we go through with it. That's all."

"Please, Sam," She begged, looking back to him with fear in her pleading eyes. It was the first time he'd really seen it there and it unnerved him. "I'm ready for this, but I need your help. I can't do this on my own and I need my boys behind me 100% if I'm going to get through this. I'm determined and you're not going to talk me out of it, but that doesn't mean I'm not scared shitless so please, stop fighting me and start helping me because I'm going to need all the help I can get to make it through this. Please." Doris voice cracked and fresh tears brimmed in her eyes and Sam looked over at Dean before pushing away from the wall to bend his tall frame over the counter and take Doris' hands in his. She didn't seem to know what to make of the gesture but she let him take them anyway.

"I'm gonna get you through this, Doris and so is Dean and we're going to send that bitch back to hell, okay?" Doris' could only nod, tears tracking down her cheeks and Sam let her hands drop then rounded the counter to pull her into a hug. She shook a little in his arms and he rocked her slightly, wishing there was a way he could take away her burden. When Sam tried to pull away, she didn't let him go.

"Remember what I told you earlier," She whispered in his ear, pulling him in just a little bit tighter, "If you trust nothing else in this world, then trust in this: you are important and there is a plan and the universe will unfold as it should. When all this is over you fix things with your brother, there's nothing more precious in this life then family." She let him go suddenly and before he could say anything back she had rounded on his brother was putting her arms around his shoulders. Dean hugged her back and looked up to Sam from the circle of her arms, doubt ping ponging between them for the briefest of moments as they both realized at the same time how very much Doris had come to mean to each of them. Sam had to look away and he fled over to the center of the room to look over the trap one more time and give them their moment though he was still able to hear the shared words between them.

"I don't like this," He heard Dean say, his brother's voice more vulnerable and soft than Sam had ever heard it before. He could probably count on his fingers the number of people Dean had ever used it on.

"I know you don't honey," Doris almost whispered, "but it's the way it's got to be. I know you and Sam still have some things to work out but I want you to promise me something, okay?"

"Why do I feel like you're saying goodbye to me?"

"Don't think of it that way, think of it as more sage advice from the woman who loves you two boys like her own flesh and blood." Sam froze at that but didn't dare turn around, it was their moment to share and he felt like he was invading enough by just listening.

"Sam is always going to need you Dean, no matter how much he tries to convince you otherwise but you've gotta promise me that you'll listen when he tries to talk to you and trust in the man that he is. Can you do that for me?" Sam looked over then to catch Dean's sad nod and didn't know how to feel about what she'd just said. He watched as Doris hugged Dean one more time and then pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before straitening up and turning to Sam once more.

"I'm ready." She said even though her voice quavered and her hands were balled into tight shaking fists at her sides. Sam nodded slowly and Dean wheeled forward and they sat in uncertain silence for a beat before Sam broke it apart.

"If anything happens the spell will expel the demon from you in three days. If she kills us, use my phone and call other hunter's to help you track her down if you can, okay?" Doris nodded, her mouth a thin line as if keeping it shut were the only way to keep herself from screaming.

"You can do this, Doris, we know you can," Dean offered from his chair and Doris looked over at him with nervous eyes and a small white lipped smile. She didn't look like she really believed him but she pulled her eyes heavenward anyway to positioned herself in the direct center of the trap and Dean wheeled himself away noisily to take his position up behind the counter where he would hopefully be out of harm's way. Sam followed behind him to grab the binder off the counter and flip to the back where his notes had been pressed in between the protective plastic pages. He'd painstakingly wrote out the incantation phonetically so that he could speak the spell in the original Greek and make sure that nothing went wrong but that didn't stop him from having to swallow back the rising panic in his throat as he looked over the words one final time. He knew his brother was watching him and he looked up to catch the concern and uncertainty painted plainly on Dean's face and he offered his brother a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You got this, Sammy." Dean said and Sam didn't know whether to take comfort or fear from his brother's use of the nickname in that moment. "You heard her, everything's going to be just fine."

Sam let the enormity of what was about to happen pull him back to reality for a moment and he held his brother's gaze for another few seconds, second guessing himself and what he was about to do. Doris could handle it, he was certain of that now, but for a fraction of a moment Sam wasn't so sure  _he_  could. When he looked back on his life the one constant in all the grief and loss he'd suffered was demons and now he was balancing on the head of a pin, getting ready to invite one back into his life to potentially tear it apart all over again. There was so much that could go wrong for Doris but also for Dean. His brother was in no condition to fight and if anything happened to Sam, he would be killed for sure. The weight of it all was almost unbearable and it was cracking his very foundation with its force and he willed his heart to stop beating away madly in his chest. As if reading his thoughts, Dean leaned forward.

"Quit second guessing yourself, Sam. Think of it as any other hunt." And he tried to nod and make it look convincing.

Sam put the binder on the counter then put his hands on either side of it, hanging his head and trying to get his emotions under control. Doris and Dean were going to need all of his focus and he had to push everything that wasn't essential down deep inside of him where it would have no chance of escaping. He could almost feel his bones harden and solidify, his basic bodily functions stilling until he was nothing more than pure determination. When he looked back up to Dean his brother gave him a nod as if to say he was behind him in whatever came next.

"You got this brother," and Sam knew he was right. Squaring his shoulders he picked the binder back up and made his way back over to where Doris was standing and waiting for him nervously. He could have sworn Dean mumbled a 'good luck' under his breath as he walked away from him.

The atmosphere in the diner had gone thick with fear and Sam waded through its substance to reach his place off to the side of the trap where he had both a clear view of Dean and of Doris. He knew he was taking a big risk standing out in the open like that but they'd all talked it over and decided their best bet was for Sam to be out in the thick of things so he could keep an eye on everything and control the situation if need be. The demon knife sat heavy in the back pocket of his jeans and he tried not to let himself think about what he might have to use it for.

Doris was looking at him with desperate eyes and he landed his own cold and focused stare on her and she seemed to still a little under his steely gaze. He was determined to get her through this and tried to convey through his look that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe and that she shouldn't worry, that he and Dean had her back. She seemed to take comfort in the strength he tried to put there for her to see and he opened the binder to the page he would need to begin the incantation. He looked up one final time before he started, eyes passing back and forth between his friend and his brother.

"Here we go."

Sam spoke the words slowly, the Greek foreign and awkward on his tongue but he didn't dare stop, the thought of tripping up and killing them all keeping him oddly calm and clear headed. He poured all his attention and focus into the words rolling off his tongue and didn't stop even when a light wind lifted the hair at the back of his neck and set the closed blinds behind him rattling against the window glass. The diner was eerily quiet but Sam thought he could detect the slightest rumble beneath his feet and the barest hint of a sulfur smell in the air and when he finished the words and closed the binder, the lights of the diner began to flicker slightly. Sam looked up and Doris was shaking like a leaf but holding her position and looking over at him with pure panic on her face. The wind was picking up around them, swirling in a vortex near the front door of the diner and the tension in the room increased to an almost unbearable level until Sam found himself crouched with his own fists clenched, holding his breath as he waited for the inevitable entrance of the Nocnitsa... but the lights stopped flickering just as suddenly as they had started and Dean speaking from behind the counter startled them all.

"Maybe it didn't work," he said louder than he probably had meant to in his anxiety and Sam straightened just as one of the front windows of the diner exploded inward and glass showered down on him with such force that he had to duck his head to keep from getting cut but that didn't stop the shards from biting into the flesh of his hands. The diner plunged into darkness and for a few confused moments he couldn't see anything until the emergency lights kicked in and the room was pulled back into sharp focus before him. His eyes darted to the window and he watched as a black mass was pulled slowly in through the blown out window. The wind was whipping around him now, a loud howl in his hears as it swept around the diner sending napkins and papers swirling around him in clouds of white and glasses rattling off the counter near Dean to crash onto the ground with the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. The chaos the wind was conjuring made it impossible for Sam to find either Doris or his brother in the melee but he could see the black shape of the Nocnitsa being forcible dragged into the diner through the window by some unseen force. He thought he could make out clawed hands reaching out through the swirling black but he couldn't tell if they were real or his mind just matrixing the worst from within the angry black mist. It was doing everything in its power to get away until Sam watched it finally give up the fight and start hurling itself towards him with a screech that he felt right in the center of his chest. It had him covering his ears to try and protect his eardrums as the terrible cry rose to unbelievable heights and threatened to rip his skull wide open. He sideswiped the mass just as it reached him but lost his footing in the process, coming down hard onto the ground just as the screech stopped, Doris scream filled his head in its place and a percussive wall of air blew all the detritus swirling in the wind against the walls, Sam along with it, until he crashed into the cinderblocks head first, white lights exploding behind his eyes with the force of the impact.

The wind stopped.

Sam sat up.

Blood was pouring into his eyes from a cut above his eyebrow and he wiped at it, trying to clear his field of vision. The room swam when he tried to get up and the vertigo landed him back on his ass on the floor, refusing to let the room stop its spinning or to let him get back up onto his feet. He searched the area around him for signs of the binder, but couldn't see it anywhere and panic clawed up from somewhere down deep inside of him, refusing to be pushed back down even though he knew the exorcism spell by heart and didn't need the binder anyway. Sam knew there was no more time to lose and he shook his head, trying to clear his fuzzy vision and used the handle of the front door to pull himself up to standing, ignoring a pain in his back where the knife had grazed the skin there when he was hurtled back into the wall. Sam wiped more blood away from his eye and finally the room came back into focus.

Doris was standing with her back to him, starting intently over at Dean who's eyes were as big as saucers. He looked over to Sam and Doris turned slowly around to face him. Her eyes were red, not unlike a crossroads demon's might be but the Nocnitsa had clouds of inky blackness that swirled around in the bloodlike redness almost as if they were alive. Doris' face was still there but it was different, grotesquely distorted, the demon inside of her so old and mangled that it couldn't hide itself properly in her form. The thing sneered at him and Sam started speaking the exorcism ritual immediately.

 _"_ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_..."

"Stupid boy!" The demon hissed, halting Sam's words for a fraction of a second with the shock of hearing Doris' voice sound so different. She was there in it but the dark timber of the demon's own voice simmered in tones below Doris' own in a way that had it reverberating through Sam's skull as if she was speaking directly into his mind. "I know your fold Son of John and you will not stop me!"

"... _omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_..." he could tell he was having an effect on her, but the demon inside Doris was strong and he prayed that his words had enough power to send her back to hell, his faith in the exorcism Latin suddenly tested as he tripped over a word. As if sensing the crack in his resolve the demon threw Doris' head back and cackled.

"You have no power over me, stupid boy. I am Nocnitsa, the Eater of Children, one who was old when the world was new and your kind was just crawling up from the muck. I will rip her heart out before you are able to finish the incantation, Sam Winchester." As if to give proof she wasn't kidding, Sam watched as long talons grew from the tips of Doris' hands to form sharp claws that tapered to points so fine at the ends that they disappeared into nothingness. He was losing control of the situation fast and he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second to get his focus back.

"... _Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt.._."

"ENOUGH!" The demon was bending over when he looked back up, crossing Doris' hands over her abdomen as if trying to keep itself firmly rooted inside of her. Sam opened his mouth to go on but before he could the demon raised Doris' arms up over her head, reaching towards the ceiling. Sam felt the ground beneath his feet begin to quake and Dean call out to him as the very earth beneath them began to rend apart. He dove out of the way of falling debris as the ground shook and dislodged chunks of plaster and tile that fell on him with clouds of dust and he couldn't help the scream that clawed up the back of his throat when a beam from the floor above came crashing down on his leg, pinning him to the ground.

The earth continued to quake and Sam held on to the beam that was crushing him for dear life as the building rumbled around him and threatened complete collapse. Chunks of the ceiling kept crashing down around him and he was waiting for the one that would eventually hit him in the head and knock him out but it never came and squeezed his eyes shut and rode out the destruction as the world came apart around him. Every few seconds he could hear another crash as more of the diner came down and he found himself unconsciously reaching out into the ether for his connection to Dean. It was something he never often did anymore because over the years it had become so very weak and almost nonexistent. It was a tether that both of them knew was there but rarely ever acknowledged and in the chaos he searched for his brother, not stopping until he heard Dean's heartbeat in his ears even over the din and knew that his brother was alive. He let that knowledge pull bravery from someone where beneath his surface and he held on to it until the relentless shifting of the earth stilled and he was left in a white silence as the dust settled around him.

Sam sat up as best he could and coughed as the thick plumes of dust reached down his throat to choke him. He was covered in the stuff and when he shifted and tried to wipe the grit from his eyes, more of it rained down around him and he sneezed. When he was finally able to clear his eyes he looked up to see that the ceiling directly in front of him had come down, cutting him off from the other half of the diner and Sam struggled to get the beam pinning him to the ground off his leg. He managed to shift it slightly but the movement brought more debris down on top of him and he had to shield himself again as more of it fell down around his head. Finally able to dislodge himself from under the heavy wood, Sam got up gingerly on his injured leg, finding that he could still walk on it, and limped over the mounds of plaster and fallen ceiling tiles to search for his brother. When he rounded the fallen ceiling his heart jumped up into his throat.

The Nocnitsa was using Doris' hand to pin Dean on his back against what was left of the counter, the untaloned hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air so that Dean was turning red with the strain of trying to pull oxygen down his constricted airway. Sam stumbled forward without thinking and the demon's blood red eyes lifted to look up at him.

"Stay where you are or he dies!" She hissed but released her hold a fraction so that Dean could draw in air and sputter and cough beneath her, a weak hand going to his throat to try and bat the demon's grip away from his neck even as his desperate eyes met Sam's. But she held on.

"Let him go." Sam coughed, the dust in his already dry throat making it nearly impossible to speak. He took a step forward despite her warning.

"Defy me again, Sam Winchester, and I will take them both to a place you will never get them back," she threatened, putting the pressure back onto Dean's throat as his brother struggled weakly beneath the demon's grip.

"Stop it! You're killing him!"

"Give me the book or I will kill him and drag them both down with me to hell and you will never again see your brother or your whore! The book! Now!" She wasn't releasing her grip on Dean's throat and Sam watched his brother's eyes roll back up into his head before his body went completely still.

"Dean! NO!" Sam ran forward in a blind panic but the demon's hand shot out and he was sent sailing back into the wall beside the counter, feet dangling a few feet above ground, his head slamming back against the drywall to daze him yet again as she pinned him there.

"The book!" She screamed, and pushed two of her taloned fingers into the flesh of Dean's chest, a light sparking along the length of the claw, drawing something up and out of Dean through the connection. Sam understood, she was feeding on his brother and he fought with all his strength against the hold she had on him but it was ironclad and unyielding and he had only one card left to play.

"Doris, please, you're killing him," He pleaded out into the helplessness surrounding him but the demon only laughed and kept on going, sliding her claws deeper into Dean's chest, blood blossoming out and soaking his brother's t-shirt. "Doris, I know you're in there. Look at what she's doing to him, you have to stop her."

Sam held his breath and for another few seconds the demon continued on as if he hadn't even spoken but then the crackling light stopped and though she didn't pull her claws out of Dean, Doris' form stilled and the diner went silent.

"That's it! You've got her, now fight it. Don't let her win, don't let her kill him, Doris." Sam felt the pressure around him lessen minutely and a moment later he fell hard to the ground, the demon's power no longer able to hold him up against the wall. His legs buckled beneath him and his injured leg protested the fall with a jolt of pain but he managed to get himself back up to standing just as the demon's claws retracted from his brother and Doris turned on him. He watched with sick fascination as the demon inside of her tried to regain full control again, her shape morphing back and forth between macabre and normal as the two spirits inside fought for dominance. Sam reached back and pulled the knife from his pocket and knew what he had to do, what Doris would want him to do and Sam lunged forward just as Doris lost the fight with the demon, Dean slid to the floor behind the counter with a limp and sickening thud, and Sam's stroke went wild and wide.

Doris' elbow came up to catch him in the solar plexus and the force of the blow combined with the dust in his throat had him falling to the floor on his hands and knees, the knife clattering away from him to disappear under the counter. Before he even knew what was happening the demon was on him, lifting him up off the ground and pining him to the wall again but this time with her hand at his throat. Her talons were back and she grazed one along the flesh of his cheek, blood trickling down his face from the cut as he tried to get out from under her hold. The pressure on his neck intensified and he had no option but to still.

"Stupid boy, worthless even in this. You will never defeat me and I will forever feast on the children of this world." She moved her talons down and used their sharpness to cut away the buttons of his shirt, opening it up to expose the white of his t-shirt. "Always so many layers, like it will hide you from the world, well I will hang your insides from atop a pole for all the world to see and they will know your failures." She poised her talons inches from the fabric of his shirt, hovering them there as if feeding off his very fear, inhaling it down with her eyes closed.

"You all taste so much better when you're afraid."

"Stop!" He managed to choke out and she looked up at him with an evil grin.

"Does the failure have a few last words? By all means Sam, don't let me stand in your way." The choking hold on his throat lessened and Sam's words came out raspy and fast.

"You demons think you know everything don't you? You think you're all powerful and going to take over the world, yet we always seem to defeat you. We've been doing this fucking dance for an eternity and yet you still haven't won and you want to know why that is, you red eyed bitch? Because we never give up. Because no matter how hard you try to beat us down we're always going to get back up on our feet to crush you to dust." He wasn't really sure where the words came from or how he had the strength to say them but the demon started to laugh, finding amusement in his empty threats.

"Well, that doesn't' seem to be the case this time around, does it Sam," She laughed, the black swirls in her eyes intensifying as she pulled her hand back and prepared to bury all five of her claws into his chest.

"Just one last thing before we do this," He said, stopping her before she could plunge the talons in. "Make sure you tell oblivion the Winchester's say hi."

Dean moved forward faster than Sam would have ever thought possible and he buried the knife to the hilt in the back of the demon. The creature gave an unholy howl, the very air around them ripping apart as both boys were sent flying backwards again, Sam into the wall and Dean head over heels up and over the counter and out into the destroyed dining room. Sam looked up to watch as the demon's red eyes went wide with shock and it scrabbled for the knife, trying to reach around behind it to pull the blade from its back. Flickering light was beginning to emanate from its shocked expression as the knife began its process of dispatching the demon from the inside out, the consuming fire of death taking longer than normal to eat it away because of its power and age until finally Doris was Doris again and she collapsed to the floor in a heap at Sam's feet, time stopping as he looked into her lifeless and unseeing eyes.

"No!"


	19. Stairway to Heaven

Dean woke on the flat of his back on a pile of debris, staring up into a hole that had once been the ceiling of the diner. At first he thought he might be dreaming, his limbs refused to work and all he could do was blink up into Doris' apartment above him, trying to comprehend why it was so important that he move. The pullout couch above him was dangling precariously through the hole in the ceiling, shifting forward an inch at a time and he was just able to roll himself off the pile before the whole thing came crashing down directly over the spot where he'd just been. The noise was deafening and by the time everything settled again, he could hear Sam yelling his name hysterically from somewhere over by the counter. Rolling over had awoken the pain in his body and his chest seized as he tried to call out and let Sam know he was okay, and he was surprised to find that his hand was covered in blood when he pulled it away from his chest. He looked down at the front of him, his entire t-shirt soaked in red and he tried to remember what had happened but it was all a messy and confused jumble inside his brain. Filling his lungs with air he tried again to call out to Sam but the words caught in his throat and all he could do was roll over and wretch into the dust beside him, blood dripping from the wounds in his chest and out onto the floor beneath him.

He half expected his brother to come running but Sam was still calling his name from somewhere far off and he knew he needed to get up onto his feet to go find him. Sam could be trapped or dying and those thoughts had Dean pushing himself up off the floor even though the pain ripped through every inch of him and black spots danced across his vision. He swayed precariously on his feet but managed to keep himself upright as he made his way toward the sound of Sam's voice, buttoning his shirt with shaky fingers to hide the blood covered fabric. He was trying to call out, to ease his brother's desperate cries, but every time he tried the swelling in his throat killed his calls before they were ever able to make it up and out. He could tell he'd been strangled but had no memory of the event and he struggled forward towards his brother, the way made precarious by all the building materials that had fallen down around him.

He picked his way carefully through the piles of dust and plaster and finally saw Sam's feet sticking out from behind what was left of the counter, one whole half of it ripped away from the floor and resting on the other side of the diner, half in and half out of one of the broken windows.

"Sam'my," He managed to croak out, and Sam sat back on his heels to look up at him. He was covered in white dust and blood, a track of it leaking steadily from a deep gash above his eyebrow but he was looking at Dean with such a mix of relief and terror in his eyes that Dean hardly noticed the wounds. He grabbed for the counter to steady himself, the black dots in his vision coming on strong again and he willed his legs not to give out on him.

"Dean, it's Doris. You gotta call 9-11." Dean stumbled forward, hardly daring to believe Sam's words, but his brother disappeared behind the counter again and when he reached a spot where he could see, he had to collapse down onto one of the barstools that had managed to stay anchored to the floor. Sam was giving Doris CPR, punishing her chest with compressions then lowering his mouth over hers to push air into her lungs in a pathetic mock up of what her chest should have been doing on its own. Blood was leaking steadily from behind her, expanding into a pool that was forming beneath her and soaking the knees of Sam's jeans with red and Dean found himself staring at her open and unseeing eyes. Tears choked him and he coughed, the sputter weak and unable to dislodge the agony stuck in the back of his throat.

"Dean, call an ambulance!" Sam begged him from the floor and Dean searched his pockets even as unconsciousness beckoned to him and tried to find his cell. His pockets were empty and he looked over at Sam to see him looking back with something unreadable behind his eyes.

"Sam..." he started to say, but his brother was shaking his head, refusing to put into words what they both knew.

"No, don't you say it." Sam begged, the wetness of his tears mixing with the white dust covering his face to run down his neck in pale streaks. "Don't you fucking say it."

Dean watched Sam go back to giving Doris desperate CPR and he struggled to get to his feet, remembering the phone Doris had by the door to the kitchen but his legs gave out on him then and he collapsed uselessly back onto the stool. Another muscle spasm ripped across his chest and pulled a strangled cry from him but it was lost below the counting coming from his brother as he worked Doris' ribcage with his clasped hands, carried away by a rhythm only Sam would know and understand and Dean could do nothing but watch.

He was leaking blood out onto the floor and could feel the paths it made from the wounds on his chest, cascading down his legs to gather in his shoes but he couldn't tear his eyes away from his brother and their fallen friend. Light was beginning to brighten in the windows of the diner and Dean realized that dawn was fast approaching, bringing with it the sound of sirens and of voices. He and Sam both looked up at the same time as Sherriff Zerbak and Deputy Hayes crashed through the front door of the diner, stopping dead when the rounded the fallen ceiling to finally reach Sam and Dean.

"Hold on boys, help is on the way," the sheriff managed to choke out before collapsing onto the ground beside Sam to take over compressions for him. Deputy Hayes knelt beside Dean and took him by surprise when he put a hand to his chest. The movement shocked him and Dean tried to lift his arms to bat the asshole's hand away but found that he couldn't make his limbs obey. The last thing he remembered was his blood spilling over the deputy's hand and Sam's voice as he called his name from somewhere beyond the encroaching blackness.

 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

 

The second time Dean woke up he was on his back again but this time it was in the quiet of another ICU room. He could tell he was drugged twelve ways from Sunday but he was alert enough to realize that Sam had his head resting on the bed beside his arm, asleep under the dim light of the TV that flickered silently above them. His throat ached with the familiarity of intubation and he wondered how much time had passed since the diner and what Sam had said to explain to the sheriff and his men what had happened. He raised an IV'd hand and placed it gently on the back of Sam's sleeping head, not really wanting to wake his brother, just wanting to make sure he was really there with him and that it wasn't a hallucination or some trick of the drugs they had given him. It wasn't a trick though and Sam raised his tired and bleary eyes to give Dean the biggest smile he'd ever seen his brother conjure before. Sam had a bandage over his eyebrow and vague memories of how he'd gotten it swirled just out of reach in Dean's mind.

"Well aren't you just a sight for sore eyes," Sam said and Dean couldn't help the look of bemused confusion that must have passed over his face.

"You've been in a coma for three days, Dean."

"No shit." It came out weak and barely louder than a whisper.

"Yeah, you gave the doctors a run for their money too. Apparently getting your heart punctured in two places tends to do that to them, or so they tell me."

"Was it the demon?" He asked, a little unnerved to hear what had happened to him in the time he was unconscious. It felt like only minutes had passed since he was at the diner.

"Yeah." Sam said simply and Dean fiddled with the pulse ox. monitor on his finger, not sure he really wanted to ask his next question.

"What happened to, Doris? I don't remember anything after the building started coming down and just a little bit after I came to in the dining room." He said quietly with a crack in his raw voice, not missing the shadow that passed over Sam's face at the question.

"You had a pretty bad concussion. They told me if you... when you woke up that you would probably have some memory issues. They might start to come back eventually so I'm just going to lay it all out straight for you, okay?" Dean nodded his agreement and Sam started in on the story. It was hard to hear and when Sam had finished all he wanted to do was rage at the universe for the injustice of it all but he had no more energy left to bellow out his frustrations like he wanted to and he had to settle for lying there on the ICU bed as tears rolled unchecked from the corners of his eyes and he shook with the force of his sadness. Sam took his hand without pretense or apology and they sat in the quiet colloquy the ICU machines made and mourned for their friend, shared loss and exhaustion trumping any desire for distance between them in that moment.

"What did you tell the cops about how Doris... you know?" He asked when it was all over and after Sam had procured some ice chips for him to help with his throat.

"That was actually a lot easier than I expected it to be. The Nocnitsa managed to take out a few other buildings in town with her impromptu earthquake and I was able to convince them all that our injuries were from falling through that hole in the floor. No one's going to be asking any questions. They're all going to be too busy rebuilding after the quake to look any closer into how she died."

"And no one's left who knew what we were doing in Oriskany anyway," Dean added solemnly and Sam looked at the floor again. "They're all dead now."

 

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

 

The third time Dean woke up he was still in the ICU but this time it was not Sam who was standing over him but another familiar face and they were looking down at him from over the railing of his bed with a mixture of anger and barely contained guilt.

"Cas?" He croaked, confused and disoriented in his drug induced state. The angel put a gentle finger to Dean's temple and in an instant managed to wipe away both the hurt and the haze that surrounded him before the angel collapsed bonelessly into the empty chair beside his bed.

"Dean, I am so sorry." Castiel wouldn't even look over at him and Dean struggled with the emotions that battered around in his chest at the sight of his friend. Cas might have just healed him of his injuries but he'd left behind the grief that still scaled the space around his heart and Dean didn't know whether to be grateful or jump out of bed and kick the shit out of the angel.

"Where were you?" Was all he could manage and Cas stared ahead, still refusing to look his way.

"I was being held by Bartholomew and his men. I could not get away and I did not hear your prayers. I am sorry, Dean.

"Yeah, you said that already." he bit back, pulling the unneeded oxygen canula from around his ears and tossing it onto the floor beside the bed before sitting up to test his limbs. He was pain free and his muscles moved freely and he couldn't help the feeling of relief that settled in around him.

"What did Sam tell you about what happened?" He asked.

"Just that you battled a demon and that you were badly injured. Dean, if I had known what you were going through I would have come immediately. I'm sorry that you lost your friend."

"Yeah, about that," he said, trying not to be angry that Cas would dare bring her up. "Any way you could resurrect her? Bring her back from the dead?" He knew it was a long shot and could already guess the answer but he had to try anyway.

"The grace I use is not my own. I wouldn't be capable of bringing your friend back from the dead unless I had use of my full powers again." Cas admitted and Dean nodded even though the angel wasn't looking at him to see it.

"Well, if you can't bring her back, Cas, then there's something else I need you to do for me." He said, yanking the IV out of his hand and tossing it down to join the oxygen tube on the floor.

"You need only ask, Dean." Came the reply and he thought how best to make his request. There was no use beating around the bush so he just blurted it out.

"Look, Doris saved our lives and she deserves a hunter's burial. I want you to get her body for us from the morgue so we can give her a proper send off. Can you do that for me, Cas?" He asked and the angel finally turned to face him, guilt still shining behind his eyes.

"I will. It's the least I can do for you Dean after what's happened but wouldn't it be better for her family to take care of her remains?" It was Dean's turn to look away.

"She didn't have anybody left. Sam and I are responsible for her now."

"I understand. Consider it done."

"Thank you, Cas. I mean it." He said sincerely and didn't look away this time when the angel looked over to him.

"She meant a lot to you, this Doris?" Cas asked carefully as if he was unsure if he was allowed to ask about her.

"I wish you could have met her," Dean smiled instead of getting angry, thinking back on the day he first walked into her diner and she'd yelled at him, thinking him just another reporter. "She was somethin' else."

"I really am sorry, Dean."

"I know you are, dude, now get me out of here before we give some poor nurse a heart attack." He said jumping out of bed and pulling the hospital gown closed behind him before the angel got an accidental eyeful of his backside.

Dean shook his limbs out for good measure, relishing in the fact that nothing hurt when he moved. His chest still ached a bit, the sorrow of Doris' passing opening up a wound inside of him that only time would heal but as Cas whisked him away from the hospital room in Utica he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face at the thought of his friend and of how profoundly she'd altered his life in the short time he'd known her. Dean had fled to Oriskany to escape his brother yet he would leave it closer to Sam than he had ever been and it was all thanks to a 70 year old woman with a heart as big as Texas who'd taken two damaged and broken brothers under her wing with nothing to go on but faith and determination. She had laid down her life and saved an entire town and managed to teach him a thing or two about life in the process. Dean would never forget his time in Oriskany with Doris and for the first time in his life looked into the future and wasn't afraid of what he saw there.


	20. Carry On My Wayward Son, An Epilogue

_They bury her beneath a willow tree on the battlefield three weeks to the day after Dean rumbles into the small town of Oriskany, New York to forever alter its destiny. It's a good place to lay her to rest and he carves a 'D' into the flesh of the tree, marking the place so the world will never forget that she existed for a time. It's fitting, he thinks, that they've chosen to put her ashes here. A battlefield suits her and he imagines that she will try to help the lost souls trapped here to guide them to the other side._

_The willow tree is beside a stream in a peaceful valley and even though what they're doing is a felony, they break into the hard winter earth to make a small tomb for her box of ashes. A long and illustrious life concentrated down to dust that will feed the grass and the very tree under which they stand when spring revives the earth again. But for now the tree's limbs hang heavy and naked as the cold March wind blows and Dean stands beside the grave they have made for their friend as the sun begins to set._

_Sam is beside him and a sense of peace descends down around him and he wonders if his brother can feel it to. It's as if she stands beside them in the dying light as dusk approaches and urges them to speak to one another. It's been so very long since they've taken the time to stop and just talk and Dean tests the waters first._

_"Thank you for everything you did for me, Sam. I couldn't have gotten through all that without you there with me." He says, releasing his words out onto the wind and letting them drift where they will. Sam is a statue beside him and for a moment he worries that his brother won't participate in the game._

_"You know, she told me something before she died. She said family is the most important thing in this life and I think I get that now. What I said to you back at the bunker was cruel and I didn't mean it, Dean. You will always be my brother and I will always love you." The force of his confession is concussive, and it reverberates around their shared space._

_"And I know what I did with Gadreel was wrong, Sammy." He offers back, exchanging one affirmation for another in fair trade between them. "I tricked you into being possessed by him and it wasn't fair to you. I know how badly you want to prove yourself to the world, just please, be more careful because there's no me if there's no you." Sam looks over to him and smiles, the sinking sun cooling the air around them but unable to pull the warmth away from around their hearts and as the sun sets behind the clouds and covers Doris' valley in shadow, Dean puts a hand on his brother's shoulder and knows that everything will be alright._

_After all, Doris said that it would be._

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big huge thank you to all the people who followed along with me on the journey to get this story written and for all your wonderful reviews and messages of encouragement over on FanFiction.net. I know I'm not going to make everybody happy with how this story ended, but I had to be true to Doris and see her character through to the end.
> 
> If you've reached the conclusion of this story and haven't yet left me your thoughts on what you thought of this, please take a minute to leave me a review below. It only takes a few seconds and it makes me oh so happy.
> 
> So until next time, keep creating and remember that you are important and that there is a plan and that universe will unfold as it should.


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